Interlocking
by orangeflavor
Summary: "Krem sighs, and a crooked grin breaks over his features. 'Maker, you're a vision, Harding.'" – Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart. A story told in brief glimpses.
1. Small Things

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Author's Note: I'm super excited about this piece! These will be short glimpses into the encounters of one Cremisius Aclassi and one Scout Lace Harding. Other characters will guest star and it will generally follow the path of the game. There will be a much larger amount of fluff than I'm used to writing, but true to my form, there will also be some good ol' fashioned angst. Because I don't believe in 'easy'. Basically, welcome to a variety of snippets, of who knows what length because I haven't finished writing them. That being said, who knows how long this story will go, but I thank you for making the journey with me. :) Also, rating may change in the future, not sure yet. Please tell me what you think.

Cover Image: I must thank "FOLEY: Artist. Writer. Hardworking Dame." for the awesome cover image for this piece. I cannot get over this picture. But she also has other friggin' awesome Krem/Harding artwork on her tumblr. Link is in my profile because ffnet is being a jerk and not letting me post it on here.

You totally need to go see her stuff. I mean seriously. What are you still doing here? Go.

Interlocking

Chapter One: Small Things

_"He catches his first sight of her standing on the other side of one of the Fallow Mire's bog lakes, dark and rain-soaked and pulling an arrow from the eye socket of one of the recently animated corpses she had just put down." – _Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart. A story told in brief glimpses.

Krem likes small things.

The spare buttons that would roll, lost and forgotten, to the creaking wood floor of his father's tailor shop, only for him to gather them and hoard them away like some prized treasure when he was younger.

The smooth rock of obsidian he found on his first outing with the Chargers, the only stone he uses to sharpen his blade, gleaming and weighted and just right in his palm.

The short, slick blade tucked just under the latch of his shoulder guard, where he can grab even with his teeth, because no man will ever hold him down again and not bleed for it.

The tiny nook of bench lining the wall of the Haven tavern behind the stairs, closed off on one side by supporting beams, at the edge of the table where the Chargers gathered for drinks and stories.

The shred of parchment he keeps as a bookmark, torn from what used to be a letter from his mother where now only the words "regret" and "never" and "shamed" are barely legible anymore.

And Scout Harding.

He catches his first sight of her standing on the other side of one of the Fallow Mire's bog lakes, dark and rain-soaked and pulling an arrow from the eye socket of one of the recently animated corpses she had just put down. She slides the arrow into the quiver on her back and turns to the other scouts and Chargers across the water, wiping a hand over her eyes to clear her vision in the downpour. "Alright, you slackers, set camp. I want a fire and an open keg by the time the Inquisitor arrives."

Krem likes small things.

* * *

><p>Often, once Harding and her scout compliment survey a new area for the Inquisitor, Bull's Chargers are one of the first regiments to clear the area of enemies. They had volunteered in fact. Bull would lead them sometimes but more often than not Krem would command the advance, seeing as his hulking Qunari commander was spending more and more time as part of the Inquisitor's intimate party. He hardly blamed him. It was the best position for him to execute his orders from the Qun and gather information for his Ben-Hassrath reports. And the Qunari trusted his company of men to Krem in his own absence. It was unspoken and unquestioned.<p>

"Krem. Lieutenant," he adds. "These louts are the Chargers," he grins proudly before Scout Harding at their first meeting in the Fallow Mire.

The dwarf lifts a brow at him while she smirks, her hands moving to her hips. "You're our advance guard?"

Krem winks at her. "Good lookin' bunch, eh?"

She releases a short, amused laugh. "Dead bunch if you don't get moving." She nods her head back toward the next rounding bend of the jutting rock lining the edge of the lake they stood before. "Expect undead. And the occasional demon. And oddly enough, a stray rabid goat or two."

Krem raises his brows at the last bit and snorts in laughter.

"Don't ask," she answers, her hands waving through the air.

Krem hoists his sword to rest flat-side against his shoulder and he is all business. "Alright, we'll clear a path. Have your scouts flank the west side. There's too much rock there obscuring our view. Don't want to fly in blind."

She nods, smirk rising. "You got it, Lieutenant. Good hunting."

Krem calls for the Chargers to move out.

"Harding, by the way."

Krem looks back down to the rogue in front of him when she speaks.

"My name," she clarifies, pulling her bow from its rest over her shoulder. "Scout Harding."

Krem smiles. "Pleasure working with you." He nods in acknowledgment and heads south with the rest of his gang.

* * *

><p>Harding watches from a distance, her bow trained on any stray ambling corpses, as the Chargers cut a path through the nearest rain-soaked expanse of plain, clearing the abandoned cabins on their way. She motions for two of her scouts to advance over the rock ledge with her and they flatten out onto the stone with their bows ready and watching, raised higher where they can see the advance of the Chargers better. There is little need for their assistance.<p>

The one she heard Krem call "Dalish" sends a fireball bursting into the cluster of walking corpses they were aiming for. The undead crumpled, burning, into the water and flames rippled and flickered across the shimmering surface. Across the lake, one of the rundown cabins explodes in a deafening boom, the previously howling corpses shuffling past it shattering into gory, sticky bits that splatter across the wet fields. Harding can hear a dwarf laughing at the rear of their company, his bow releasing arrows into the flurry of oncoming enemies.

More corpses rise from the water. One of the Chargers, a man she thinks is named Stitches, is positioned slightly ahead of the dwarf manning the explosives and shooting arrows, his dagger swiping through the rotting flesh gracefully. He stops momentarily at the barely-heard grunt of a blond man facing the bulk of the oncoming dead horde. The dark rogue grabs a bottle from his belt and tosses it toward the blond warrior, who guzzles it quickly between cutting down demons and dead.

There is a flurry of movement in the main concentration of corpses and Harding can barely make out the image of a lithe, swift elven woman with dark hair. Her hoarse shouts and growls and bouts of dark laughter puncture every lash of her dual blades. And in the midst of this is Krem, his swift and purposeful swings felling multiple corpses with minimal blows. He twists sharply to call out to the elven mage at their flank and she responds immediately, several bright orange glyphs marking the ground before the Chargers. Corpses stagger unknowingly across the branded ground, blazing in howling shambles moments later, and at Krem's call, the dwarf with the bow lets loose a flurry of arrows. Krem advances in the chaos, flanked by the silent blond warrior, his shield raised, and the limber elf with blood and laughter splashed along her blades.

Harding watches in fascination and admiration at the slow battle waged before them. This ruthless and focused Krem is hard to reconcile with the laid-back, engaging man she spoke to moments before. She finds both intriguing.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Skinner, what's the count?" Krem calls from his position on the rotting half-sunken bog bridge, his blade pulling free of the decomposing body hanging from its length. The corpse drops to the ground unceremoniously, splashing foul-smelling water over his greaves.<p>

Skinner sheaths her daggers along her back holster and runs her hand through her dark hair, revealing the splatters of blood and dirt marring her cheeks. Her smile is wide and eyes gleaming. "I count thirty one, Krem," she says proudly, her thick Orlesian accent curling around her words..

"Thirty four," Rocky corrects, the dwarf emerging from the nearby cabin with a decomposing arm held in his hand, waving at them. "Got three with my trap-detonations in here."

Stitches groans and rolls his eyes. "For the love of all that is holy, put that limb down!"

Rocky chuckles and tosses the severed arm behind him, back into the cabin, as he exits the building.

Krem turns back to catch sight of Harding and her scouts moving into the recently cleared field. "Hear that, Harding?" he calls jovially. "Thirty four." He sheaths his sword and smiles at her as she surveys the damage.

Harding shakes her head at the proud admission and laughs. "Thirty four that were already dead. I declare a handicap."

Krem tuts. "No pleasing you, huh?"

She looks around, plants her hands on her hips. "Well, you cleared another decent camp sight. So points there." She flicks her gaze to Krem and smirks. "It's a start."

Krem shakes his head, but he's laughing. Beside him, the blond warrior steps up and hoists his shield over his shoulder. Krem cranes his head back to glance at it. "Oy, Grim. I think you got some spleen on your shield there."


	2. Crafting

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Author's Note: So I was planning to space out the updates a little bit but I was so excited about this piece that I decided to post this second chapter literally an hour after I posted the first, haha. But after this, there will be a steady, even stream of updates. Please enjoy.

Interlocking

Chapter Two: Crafting

"'_How did you learn to make your own bows?' She purses her lips in nostalgic thought for a moment."_ – Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart. A story told in brief glimpses.

"Ironbark?" the requisitions officer laughs. "Yeah, _sure_. Got bundles of it actually. Came in with our shipment of fine Orlesian silks and dragon scales."

Harding frowns at the tall woman crossing her arms before her. "I was just asking. No need for the stick up your ass."

The requisitions officer narrows her eyes and flares her nostrils at the rogue dwarf.

Harding rolls her eyes and walks away, past the recently pitched tents and potions chests of the camp. She walks to the ledge just past the established camp and looks out over the beach of the Storm Coast. She sighs and releases some of the pent up tension in her clenched fists, her arms going slack beside her. She watches the waves roll in and crash against the sand.

"What would you do with ironbark anyway?"

Harding turns at the question and finds Krem stepping up the grassy bank toward her.

She releases a soft laugh. "Probably whack that overpaid, stuck-up requisitions officer over the head to start." She turns to look back out at the sea.

Krem chuckles and settles beside her, leaning on one leg, his hand resting lightly and comfortably on the hilt of his sword at his waist. "And then?"

She glances at him. "I was hoping to craft a new bow. Mine hasn't been pulling tight enough since we left the Fallow Mire. I think all that rain has soaked in and stretched the wood. Ironbark, though, holds up well enough when wet."

Krem cocks a brow at her. "You fashion your own weapons?"

She quirks a smile his way and crosses her arms. "Sometimes. It's kind of a passion of mine. I don't have the touch of a smithy, really. But I know what works best with my hands and my skill and I can make something sturdy enough to fit my needs."

"How did you learn to make your own bows?"

She purses her lips in nostalgic thought for a moment. "I used to herd sheep for my neighbor. Her husband was a Redcliffe soldier, one of the Arl's. He taught me when I was younger. And I guess I kind of held onto it. Especially after that undead craziness during the Blight. Had no use for it 'til now though."

Krem finds the idea of her carving her own bow suddenly endearing. The furrow he imagines to her brow. The quick and efficient work of her hands. The triumphant smile he expects when she finishes.

"I don't know," the dwarf shrugs. "It's just nice I guess, to wield something of your own creation. Kind of inspiring really, when in the heat of it and all." She chances a look at him and finds him watching her, the faint lilt of a smile pulling at his lips. "What?"

He shakes his head and looks back at the sea before them. "Nothing. I mean, makes sense. I only wish making a blade was something I had a head for. Seems only wielding is to be my talent."

"Eh," Harding shrugs, watching the waves. "You pass at it."

Krem laughs and turns to her, arms crossed. "Oh, I just _pass_, is it?"

Harding rolls her eyes. "Enough to get the job done."

Krem levels a mock stern gaze on the rogue. "I'll have you know, we Chargers are the greatest advance guard you'll ever have the pleasure of working with."

"Hmm," she muses playfully. "I wasn't talking about the _Chargers_ really."

Krem catches her meaning and scoffs, but it is punctured by the laugh bubbling up his throat. "Alright then, _Scout Harding_. I was going to offer you the stock of ironbark the Chargers were saving back at Haven, but now…"

She turns to him, mouth agape, arms swiftly uncrossed from her chest. "Oh, you are so horrid"

He laughs at her. And it feels freeing and natural and warm.


	3. Slaying Dragons

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Author's Note: Please pardon the inordinate amount of cheese in this chapter. Have fun!

Interlocking

Chapter Three: Slaying Dragons

"'_I hear good things. You've been keeping my Chargers busy?'"_ – Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart. A story told in brief glimpses.

Krem just makes his way up the crest of the hill when he catches sight of Harding standing near the potions master of the camp, instructing the three scouts before her and then turning to the man, mouthing something that brings him to laughter. The potions master then walks off as her three scouts disband and Harding turns just in time to see Krem coming toward the camp, Iron Bull and the Chargers beside him.

"Here you go, Chief," Krem announces. "Harding. In the flesh." He motions toward the dwarf and Harding has to crane her neck back pretty far to catch the gaze of the towering Qunari.

"Hey there," he greets, smiling. "I hear good things. You've been keeping my Chargers busy?"

She smirks. "If by 'busy', you mean keeping their blades bloody, then yes. Whole lot of that going around." She reaches a hand out toward their commander and he grasps it instantly. They release hands, smiling.

"Hey," Bull begins, the sudden bright gleam of a thought in his eye, "have you ever been to Kirkwall? Because you'd be-"

"Harding in Hightown," she groans. "Yes, I know. Can't seem to escape it."

Bull releases a throaty laugh, one hand slapping against his thigh.

Krem cocks his head toward Harding to catch her eye, hooking a thumb toward his boss next to him. "Thinks he's right funny, this one."

"Don't worry though," Bull continues. "You're in good company. Krem's _Aclassi_ guy, after all." He cannot help the chuckle he releases at his own joke.

Harding raises her brows to Krem in question.

"My last name," he waves off.

She has to hold her hand to the smile pulling at her lips and the giggle breaking through behind it.

"You two should get a room, really," Krem frowns at them, looking between the dwarf and the Qunari as they both chuckle mercilessly.

Krem rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. "Good thing you stick to blades, boss. Because you're certainly not slaying 'em with your jokes."

Harding coughs into her fist and clears her throat, trying to check the smile breaking across her features. "Anyway, I could certainly use the Chargers' help with this one."

Bull sobers up minutely, his face alighting with the promise of battle. "What needs killing?" he asks eagerly.

"Well," she begins, "there's a dragon up past the Rebel Queen's Ravine and-"

"A dragon!" Bull breathes excitedly.

"Yeah," Krem starts, warning, "best observed from a distance, boss."

Bull's eyes are bright and frantic. "But to slay a dragon…" He tapers off dreamily.

"Is not the request," Harding finishes, bringing their attention back.

Bull blinks at her in question.

"Look," she starts, her hands poised in the air, "we're not trying to take down the Fereldan Frostback. It seems to have flown off past the ravine into some of the cliffs, happily enjoying its little crater by the sea. But we need to clear out the dragonlings. Inquisitor wants to gather the last of those 'shards' or something and the place is just crawling with those fire-breathing runts. Think you guys are up for it?"

Bull's shoulders slump at the explanation.

Krem leans in toward Harding, one hand raised to cover his mouth from Bull's view, whispering conspiratorially, "I think you just killed his dream, Harding. You cruel, cruel woman, you."

Harding levels Krem with a disbelieving look. "What, is he twelve?"

Bull pulls a deep breath in and grumbles, turning to walk through the ravine and into the dragonling-infested clearing. "No, just a man broken," he sighs dramatically.

The Chargers follow and Harding and Krem chuckle beside each other.


	4. Drinks

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money

Author's Note: Thank you all for the great support. I didn't think this small piece was going to garner such attention or such amazing readers! You've been great. I'd like to dedicate this chapter to JayRain, who recently has been giving great encouragement and chose to promote _Interlocking_ on their tumblr. I've never had anything like that done for me before and it makes me all warm and fuzzy inside. Thank you JayRain! Everyone, please enjoy the next chapter.

Interlocking

Chapter Four: Drinks

"'_Hope it's giants,' he muses. Harding chuckles and shakes her head. 'Who wishes for giants?'"_ – Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart. A story told in brief glimpses.

Harding had just finished gathering the last of the potions and herbs for her men when she decides to have a drink at the tavern before they strike out again. She expects to find at least a handful of her scouts there already, seeing as they had two more hours before inspection and leaving Haven. None of her men were irresponsible enough for her to crack down on the pre-mission drinking. She overlooked it most times, and partook herself the other times. Times were hard enough to have to worry about miserable troops. Their arrows hit targets, their traps released cleanly, their missives always arrived timely with their ravens. A little drink here or there was the least she could allow these men and women. These volunteers of the Inquisition. Everyone here wanted to be here. They wouldn't jeopardize that.

Harding enters the tavern and waves in greeting to several of her men she sees scattering the tables. She makes her way over to the barkeep and orders a tankard of ale when she hears the call of her name. She turns to look around the tavern.

"Harding!"

She catches sight of Krem toward the back, a hand waving her over. She makes her way to his table and sits down with him, noticing the absence of the other Chargers. She smiles in greeting. "Where is everybody?"

Krem shrugs. "Well, Bull's off in Redcliffe with the Inquisitor. Don't know where the rest of them are. Supposed to meet back here in four hours anyway so most of them are off procuring items and fixing their packs."

Harding takes a sip of ale. "You're clearing out the Forbidden Oasis once we scout ahead, right?"

"Of course. Rocky's blitzed out of his mind with the chance at blowing new tunnels. Besides, Venatori and giants? Sounds like fun." He lifts his tankard to his lips.

"Well, the giant report was kind of sketchy. I think Flaxley just caught a minor earthquake and got scared. He's kind of got a thing about giants. Haven't gotten a raven since that first report though so it's worth scouting."

"Your advance scout?"

"Yep."

"Hope it's giants," he muses.

Harding chuckles and shakes her head. "Who wishes for giants?"

Krem grins proudly. "We're trying to get our giant count up. Make it a trademark of being a Charger. Looks good against the other mercenary groups. Helps us get hired more."

She cocks a brow his way, licking the ale from her lips. "I thought you guys were in the Inquisition's full employ. No other outside jobs and such."

Krem shrugs one shoulder. "Doesn't hurt to build up a larger reputation while we're here. Sometimes you got to think of the 'after'. After this big hole in the sky is plugged, you know?"

Harding nods, pursing her lips in thought. "Haven't much thought about 'after'."

"Bull's good at it. Planning ahead. Setting us up so we're always hired and always prepared."

"Sounds like a good boss."

"Sure is. Better than most idiots I've served under. Even if he acts like a giant teddy bear sometimes."

Harding giggles.

"I'm sure you'd have a place, you know."

Harding cocks her head in question, swallowing her ale.

Krem turns the handle of his tankard around in his grip. "With the Chargers. Bull likes you. And I can vouch for your skill. You know, if you start thinking about 'after'."

She cannot help the grateful smile that spreads across her face. "Thanks. I'll think about it."

Krem nods, lips pursed, gaze on his ale. "I'd sure love to have you."

Harding opens her mouth to speak but is cut off by the loud and imperative "It's a bow!" she hears coming from the tavern's entrance.

She turns to find Dalish walking to the bar with someone who looks like they work in the armory, arguing with her hands thrown in the air. "What's Dalish doing?" she asks, bringing her tankard to her mouth.

Krem rubs a hand down his face and sighs. "Trying to get them to allow her into the archery contest."

Harding spurts ale through her nose.


	5. Dark Water

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Author's note: So I know that it's been a little while for them to still be at Haven and not even gotten to Skyhold yet but hey, everyone likes build-up right? Soon, my pretties. Soon.

Interlocking

Chapter Five: Dark Water

. _"'Scared of water, there?' Harding scoffs and crosses her arms, her chin raised slightly. 'No.' He chuckles beside her."_ – Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart. A story told in brief glimpses.

The air is cool and crisp when Harding steps out of her tent in the middle of the night. Used to short sleeping hours and knowing her watch started shortly anyway, she had emerged from her tent in her full leather armor. She is adjusting the strap along her shoulder guard when she catches sight of a figure down on the beach of the Storm Coast. They are far enough away for her not to recognize them, but close enough to gauge that the figure is human. They sit in the sand, just on the edge of the water as waves slosh slowly and gently against the beach.

There are torch posts and a half guard patrolling the camp, the Chargers asleep in their tents, so she figures it can't be an enemy. She has time before her watch. She strolls down the bank and realizes as she gets closer that it is Krem. He sits with his knees pulled up, his arms resting atop them, and his shin guards and boots are removed, lying in the sand next to him. His bare feet touch the edge of the water as it pools close to where he sits. He hears her approach and looks up to find her silhouetted in moonlight.

He smiles softly. "Harding," he greets.

She stops just beside him and leans her weight on one leg, her hand coming up to her hip. "Darkspawn wore you out, Krem?"

He smirks, remembering the pockets of darkspawn crawling from the recently opened caves along the Coast. Harding and her scouts had reported the sightings on their routine search along the coast. The request for troops to clear the creatures had been sent to the war table and Bull had suggested the Chargers for the operation to Cullen, seeing as the Inquisitor was off in the Forbidden Oasis and the threat needed immediate attention.

Bull and his Chargers had made the trek shortly after and spent the day clearing the creatures from the Sword Coast caves. They decided to stay the night at camp before returning to Haven the following morning. Everyone was anxious for the Inquisitor to return and seal the breach.

Krem turns to watch the shimmering ocean before them. "It'll take more than a few of those beasties to put down a Charger." There is the smallest hint of pride lacing his tone. And Harding finds that she enjoys how he always includes the band in his speech. How his own personal situation is only a reflection of the Chargers. How he is always proud of it, always belonging to it. Always more than just the life he leads.

She turns her gaze to the dark water as well and then takes a slight step back, a quiet wary breath along her lips, when she catches sight of a small wave rolling toward their position on the beach. It is barely enough to wet Krem's feet by the time it crashes softly along the shore and he is looking at her, amused. "Scared of water, there?"

Harding scoffs and crosses her arms, her chin raised slightly. "No." Her protest is just adamant enough for Krem not to believe her.

He chuckles beside her.

She grumbles under her breath and looks to the sand at her feet, where her boot flicks a pebble into the water. "It's just…I'd never seen the sea before we surveyed the Coast here." She watches the lightly moving water. "I mean, sure we had the lake back in Redcliffe but this…this is just so…endless. It's still strange to me I guess." She turns her gaze to Krem in the sand next to her.

There is warmth in his eyes. "It's calm now. Though I've always found it more beautiful when it is crashing and storming and wild." He digs his toes into the wet sand and watches the water.

"But it's more dangerous then, right?"

"That's what makes it beautiful." He does not move his gaze from the sea when he speaks.

Harding considers it momentarily, tries to find a horizon past the water but there is nothing except the bleeding of grey and blue, where she cannot tell the sea from the sky. "I guess it is rather majestic."

"It's free," he muses quietly.

Harding blinks at him, uncrossing her arms. She turns at the call of her name from the camp. She finds Scout Brennan waving at her. Harding sighs and looks at Krem, who had turned his gaze on her in question.

She shrugs. "My watch. No rest for the wicked, huh?"

A smile tugs at his lips. "Well, I certainly feel safer knowing you're on duty."

She snorts as she moves to step away. "Like you need protecting."

Krem shrugs and smiles. "You never know. I might need you to come rescue me one of these days."

"Ha!" she barks. "I look forward to it. Night, Krem." She walks back up the beach.

"Night, Harding," he answers in whisper to the silent sea before him.


	6. Shattered

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Author's Note: So here's the deal: I want to try to post a chapter a day. Ambitious, I know, especially for my slow ass. But the chapters are so short that I feel it can be done. And I am enlisting your help readers. Please, PLEASE, if I fail to keep my update promise then lay into me. It will keep me motivated to stay to schedule, because I'll feel like a dick for not keeping my word. Deal?

Interlocking

Chapter Six: Shattered

"_Something cold and heavy begins to fester inside her. She turns her gaze to Krem and swallows back that thick slice of dread."_ – Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart. A story told in brief glimpses.

Everyone is dancing. Singing, drinking, generally making merry. There is no more green over-arching tear in the sky. The Inquisitor has sealed the breach. Haven is heavy with music and laughter.

Harding sits in the main square, clapping her hands to the music and watching her scouts dance. She lets out a loud guffaw at two of her scouts drunkenly crashing into each other in the middle of the dancing ring. She grabs her mug of ale beside her and takes a large gulp. Beside her, her men are singing along with the tune and have their arms over each other's shoulders, swaying with the melody. Several of them have splashes of ale and mead against their tunics, their tankards sloshing in their hands as they sing. No one seems to notice. It is all smiles and ease and the soft quaking breath of relief that blankets the troops.

"Care for a dance?"

Harding blinks at the voice beside her, lowering her mug from her mouth, her smile still gracing her features. She turns to her left and finds a hand outstretched. She purses her lips at the fuzzy image and trails her gaze up the arm and then the face and then the man that it belongs to. Krem. Harding cannot tell if it is the ale that warms her or something else. But he is standing there, hand outstretched, light from the nearby fire flickering across his face. He smiles, and it is inviting and dangerous and soothing all at once. Her hand slips into his of its own accord and she is jumping from her seat, stumbling tipsily only for a moment, steadied by Krem's hand on her back. He leads her to the dancing ring and she must wave off the cat-calling and hollering of her men as she giggles.

The music is drum-heavy and urgent within her. She dances around the square, both in turn with Krem, who moves, to her surprise, in graceful ease to her awkward steps, and with the other men and women around the square. Twirling across the floor, a laugh bubbles up within her. She finds his eyes easily and reaches her hand toward him as the dance brings them back together.

The sharp clang of the warning bell sounds. Harding's step falters and she must blink through the haze of ale and happiness to look to the sound. Everyone in the square is still, the music dead instantly.

Something cold and heavy begins to fester inside her. She turns her gaze to Krem and swallows back that thick slice of dread.

His eyes are not on hers. He is looking over the nearest snowy hill, his jaw clenched tight, a taut and steady stillness rooting him. He grabs for her arm and pulls. "Come with me."

Haven erupts into movement then.

Harding lets Krem pull her along, tries to keep step with him but her shorter legs and intoxicated mind are making it difficult to run without tripping several times. All around her are shouts and the thumping of boots, the clang of the bell still reverberating around the square in alarm. Somewhere in the distance she thinks she hears their forward gate being blasted open in a trembling boom. She pulls in a quaking breath and tries to focus. "Krem! Krem, where are we going?"

Cullen rushes past her, sword raised, a troop of soldiers following his bellowing orders.

Krem does not look at her. Keeps moving. Keeps his eyes set and determined ahead of them. "To the Chantry. I'm getting you in there before I join the Chargers on the front."

She tries to dig her heels into the snow to stop. "Wait, wait – Krem I can still –" She only succeeds in stumbling. His gait is unbroken and unrelenting. She fumbles up the steps after him. A group of mages rush past them toward the square. Harding can see the Inquisitor jumping over the ledge atop the stairs across from them, landing in the snow and then breaking into a sprint toward the main gate. Harding turns to Krem and reaches her free hand to grasp his along her arm. "Please, Krem, stop!"

He stills before her and she is so surprised she almost runs into him.

"You've had ale, right?"

She blinks in confusion at his question."Uh, yeah, I mean, we all…"

He finally looks at her. "Too much?"

She cannot be sure whether he says it as a question or a statement.

His eyes soften and there is the barely-there glimpse of fear she finds looking back at her. "Too much to fight clearly?" he clarifies.

Harding snaps her mouth shut. Pulls a steadying breath through her nose. She looks back behind them and finds a sea of red flooding toward their gate. It is not quite fire, not quite magic. She'd be lying if she said she didn't panic at the sight, even in the slightest. She looks back to Krem and swallows tight. Finds his hand still holding her. Something stronger than fear begins to take root in her heart. "I can still shoot straight," she answers. She's relieved to find her voice comes out steadier than she feels.

Krem watches her for a moment, looks up to the oncoming horde of demons and something else he cannot place. Firelight casts gleaming red flashes against the flood of enemies. He locks gazes with her. "Then make sure that's all you do. Stay with the Chargers. Stay in the back. I will cover you."

She pushes down that tremble of fear and anxiety rattling inside. Nods to him. "Okay."

"Okay," he breathes. This time, when he moves, it is her hand he grasps to pull along after him. Their fingers link without question. "Stay close."

His whisper is heavy and ragged in the winter air. It sends her spine to tingling.


	7. Nightmare

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Author's Note: Thank you so much for your support readers! I'm excited to finally have some angst for these two. I hope you enjoy.

Interlocking

Chapter Seven: Nightmare

"_These are the things she remembers."_ – Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart. A story told in brief glimpses.

Harding remembers the day her sister died.

Redcliffe. Blight. Undead. She was seventeen.

These are the things she remembers.

Her sister, fourteen winters old, body limp and blood-splattered, eyes peeled toward the sky. She pulls on her arm uselessly, crying, screaming. Her touch is already cold.

Redcliffe. Blight. A Warden too late.

Her sister is wrapped in white cloth speckled with red blooms. Her face is not her own when they push the boat off the edge of the lake. Harding releases the arrow that lights her sister's corpse aflame. Something sharp and deep-seated digs its claws into her heart. Her breath is tangled up in her throat where her scream lays raw and dying. She falls to her knees, her sister's blood still caked into the creases of her palms.

These are the things she remembers.

Harding stirs to wakefulness in the cold of the Frostback Mountains. Looks around at the weary and injured Inquisition soldiers littering their makeshift camp miles from the fiery remnant of Haven.

She finds she has survived another nightmare. She closes her eyes once more and tries to find sleep.

* * *

><p>Krem wipes a hand over the back of his neck and sighs. He is sitting along the edge of rock at the base of the mountain shielding their camp from view. His hands hang limp over his knees. Everything feels heavy and sore and throbbing. But alive. Stinging and harsh in the whipping cold, but alive.<p>

He looks up at the Chargers around the circle before him. Stitches is bandaging Grim's burned arm as he sits quietly in the snow, eyes on the fire in the middle of their little circle. Skinner is lying on her back along the furs spread next to the fire. Her eyes are dark and fixed on the stars, her teeth grit in pain, sweat coating her skin. Her body trembles in muscles spasms, her right thigh wrapped in bloody rags. She will not take the sleeping draught.

Dalish and Rocky stand a few feet away, counting out and separating the remaining healing potions to portion out amongst the wounded. And Bull sits inside the nearby tent, writing frenziedly along a strip of parchment. Krem can only surmise it is an update to the Ben-Hassrath. He watches his boss's tight frown, his hard eyes, the unattended gash down his arm that he refused for Stitches to heal until everyone else was bandaged up. The way the anger and resentment is bundled tight in his muscles. And Krem knows they will be sticking around for the long haul. Krem knows Bull has a taste for Corypheus' blood now. And he will not let go until he pulls his blade from the darkspawn magister's chest himself.

Krem finds the quiet blossom of relief blooming in his chest. He couldn't leave like this either. Not with so much unfinished. Not with so much unsaid. Not when he looks around at the men and women of the Inquisition and thinks 'family'.

Not when he catches sight of Harding sleeping a couple tents down, her leathers splashed in blood and bow held tight even in her slumbering hands. Not when he imagines her shaking in her sleep.


	8. Pocket of Memory

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Interlocking

Chapter Eight: Pocket of Memory

"_Krem sighs and a crooked grin breaks over his features. 'Maker, you're a vision, Harding.'_" – Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart. A story told in brief glimpses.

Krem sighs as he stands in the middle of the Skyhold courtyard, his hands planted on his hips as he looks around the dilapidated keep. Inquisition troops are filtering through the main gate, trailing carts and wagons of whatever they could salvage from Haven behind them. Up in the rafters of the highest tower, Leliana is already sending out ravens to her agents. It is only a matter of days before workers start pouring in from all over Thedas.

"Well," Harding begins as she steps up beside him, "It's certainly a fixer-upper."

Krem throws a thumb in the direction of the building nearest them. "Ten sovereigns says the tavern's the first thing getting repaired."

Harding eyes him momentarily, smirking, and then leans closer to him and sniffs, pulling away with her nose scrunched up in distaste. "Nope. Baths and outhouses," she bets.

Krem laughs for the first time since fleeing Haven.

* * *

><p>It is a slow and arduous first few days. Most of the troops are committed to repair of the Skyhold keep. There is little need to spare the men for other operations. The Inquisitor had not yet committed to the trek to Crestwood in search of Hawke's Warden contact, and the ball at the Winter Palace was not for a few weeks. Cullen decides to delegate his men to construction work instead, and the Chargers, those who were the least wounded, offer to help in such.<p>

Harding and what was left of her regiment are tasked with surveying the outlying lands and cliffs of Skyhold to ascertain what defenses nature provided and what weaknesses needed addressing. They are also tasked with finding a natural food source in the mountains and come back most nights with ram and druffalo herd locations, pelts and however many of the creatures they can carry back to camp for the kitchens that night.

Dusk has filtered through the crumbling walls of Skyhold to fill the courtyard in a hazy orange when Harding returns from her most recent trek outside the keep. She finds several men hoisting up a wall on the west side of the stables with wooden beams, one crouching atop the nearest rampart calling out directions to them, two horses strapped to the other side of the wall to pull it erect while the men push from the other side.

"Heave!"

Harding stops when she sees Krem's form holding up one of the beams. His usual armor is gone, and he is dressed in simple leather pants, strapped into his mud covered boots, a loose, sleeveless tunic the color of wine draping over his torso. Harding is close enough to see the sweat drenching his body, to see the strain of his muscles as he pushes against the support beam with another man beside him.

"Hold the horses!" the man atop the rampart calls, and a stable hand holds their reins quickly. "Set the stakes and shore up the sides! One last push men."

Krem grits his teeth and adjusts the beam over his shoulder, gripping the heavy wood tightly and straining forward, a boot dug into the ground to anchor himself. There is a triumphant roar amongst the men as they shove with one last group effort and get the heavy wall erect, others rushing in to set the supports and steady the partition.

Krem pulls from the wall with a relieved sag of his shoulders, twisting his neck around to lessen the strain of muscles. A couple of the men thump their hands against his shoulders in gratitude as they all spread thanks around. Krem nods, a weary smile gracing his features and he shakes hands with one of the workers before dropping down to sit on a nearby pile of wooden beams. He leans his arms over his knees and pants heavily, wiping a hand across his brow to keep the sweat from his vision, and then rubbing the hand over the back of his neck, trying to work some of the stiffness out of his muscles. A pair of boots enters his vision and he blinks in mild recognition before looking up.

Harding is standing before him, a soft silhouette of orange light framing her, her bow slung over her shoulder and one hand holding out her water skin.

Krem sighs and a crooked grin breaks over his features. "Maker, you're a vision, Harding," he breathes raggedly, reaching for the skin and bringing it to his lips without hesitation.

Harding watches in mild fascination as several drops escape his mouth and run down the smooth tanned skin of his neck, already drenched in sweat. She catches the minute flex of muscles in his throat as he drinks and her mouth is suddenly dry.

He pulls the water skin from his lips and hands it back to her, wiping his mouth with his other arm. "Thanks," he pants, still tired from the recent construction work.

Harding nods, her throat tight, and glances behind him at the half-finished stables. The missing roof floods the space in warm, hazy light and she doesn't know why it looks so beautiful. Slants of shadowy orange shift through the piles of hay and nestle around the horses in a light embrace. Their tails flick through the air and the soft, melodic rumble of their whining drowns out the harsh barking orders of the men around them.

She thinks of Redcliffe suddenly. This small pocket of warm memory in the dusk of a frozen Skyhold. It brings a small and shaky smile to her face.

"Harding?"

She breaks from her thoughts to find Krem watching her, his gaze curious but still intent, still focused.

She shakes her head slightly and locks gazes with him. "Nothing. Just…thanks."

Krem cocks his head in question, his brow furrowed.

Harding's smile is soft and speaks of a time Krem wishes he'd known her. "It's a bit of home," she answers, nodding toward the work in progress that was the stables. "So…thanks for fixing 'em up."

Krem's eyes rove her face and for the first time thinks he sees wetness dotting her eyes. Her cheeks are a light pink beneath the smattering of freckles along her skin. In the fading light of dusk, her face is warm and inviting and everything Krem feels himself reaching for.

He has to swallow tightly and resist the sudden urge to spread his fingers over the smooth skin of her neck. "Of course," is all he manages, and he hopes she takes the ragged words as only a result of his weariness, and not the breathless trepidation humming beneath his skin.

Harding clears her throat and motions to the four snow hares hanging from her belt. "Got to get these to the kitchen. I'll catch you later, Krem." She walks off to the stairs leading into the kitchen where her scouts had already made their way with their own hunting prizes.

Krem watches her form far longer than he thinks might be appropriate.


	9. Stronger Than Fear

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Author's Note: You people are absolutely lovely. Thank you for the support. Please enjoy.

Interlocking

Chapter Nine: Stronger Than Fear

"_He must turn his gaze from hers when he speaks. 'We all have our demons.'"_ - Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart. A story told in brief glimpses.

It becomes habit, meeting at the tavern for drinks at night. Sometimes with the Chargers, sometimes without. Always with an ease and intrinsic need that neither have bothered to question. Harding and Krem trade words across the table, offer laughter and stories between them. Some nights are quiet, with Harding recalling the recent losses to her regiment at Haven. Others are boisterous and riot-like, the bard Maryden shooting them exasperated glares when their voices drown out her songs.

Every night is filled with warmth. Every night speaks of a slow-blooming ache between them. Every night is stark and rich with its vibrancy.

Harding glances toward Krem and catches his eyes, vivid and tender and crinkled by his smile.

Something searing and longing settles deep inside her.

Maker, that _smile_.

* * *

><p>"Anxious to get back out there?" Harding asks the question even though she knows the answer.<p>

Krem leans back in his chair, his tankard of ale settled in his grip and he looks at her from across the table. "Definitely. Been out of action for too long. Fixing up the keep is fine work and all. Keeps us fit. But it doesn't quench that thirst for the fight. A Charger's meant to be out there," he motions with a nod of his head toward the door of the tavern, a general indication of the world past their little table. "Meant to be in the thick of it. Blades bloody and hearts pumping, you know?"

Harding nods. "I'm getting a little cabin fever myself. There's only so much hunting I can do before I go mad. There's a world out there that needs us in it and I'm ready for it."

Krem lands a lop-sided grin her way. "Skinner's about to scale the walls. I think it's the longest I've seen her go without killing anybody."

Harding chuckles, but it is colored by the soft pain of a recent memory. "She did get hurt pretty bad back at Haven. Surprised she's healed well enough to go out with you guys."

Shrugging a shoulder nonchalantly, Krem takes another sip of ale. "Stitches knows his stuff. Besides, there's not much that'll keep Skinner out of a fight."

"Well, a fight's certainly what we expect." Harding sits back in her chair and sighs. "My advance scout has sent reports of skirmishes in the Emerald Graves but they're not sure who the players are. That's why my regiment's deploying tomorrow morning."

Krem raises his mug in a toast. "And you'll have us at your back by the afternoon."

Harding smiles appreciatively and clanks tankards with him. "Ever been to the Graves?"

Krem purses his lips and shakes his head slightly. "No. Hear it's gorgeous though."

Harding sighs in thought, her eyes drifting off toward the other patrons around the tavern. "I've never been either. But Gresner says it's like drowning in emerald sunlight."

Krem lifts his brows at the description. "Well, that's an image."

Harding chuckles as she swallows her sip of ale. "He wanted to be a poet. We're all rather glad he stuck to scouting."

Krem's laugh bubbles out of him as he continues. "Now I'm not sure whether to be excited or frightened of these Graves."

"I don't think anything could frighten you, Krem." She says it so naturally, so earnestly, her eyes fixed on his in a whisper of wonder.

Krem's smile falters minutely, not enough for Harding to notice, but enough for the quiet clench of his heart to remind him of a past not far from reach. To remind him that fear can still take root within him. That this brutal world is not finished with him. He must turn his gaze from hers when he speaks. "We all have our demons." He has to swallow tightly and reach for something else to quell this trembling remembrance.

Her face framed in orange light, full of sincerity and promise and freedom.

A freedom Krem aches for when he is alone at night with his past.

Something in the way he looks away makes Harding reach her hand toward him. Her touch is sure as it lights on his wrist, her fingers wrapping softly around his skin.

He looks to the touch, something stronger than fear clenching tight in his chest.

Harding cocks a smirk his way. "Horns up, right?"

Krem furrows his brows as he looks up at her. He doesn't think anything's ever looked so beautiful.

* * *

><p>Harding remembers getting drunk one night with the Chargers. Asking each of them what they did before the Inquisition.<p>

"Blew shit up."

"Killed some assholes."

"Not an apostate!"

Harding falls to the floor laughing at some point in the night, her fingers hooked above her head in the imitation of horns.

Krem's laughing so hard he stumbles as he helps her off the floor.

"Horns up!" he calls, his smile brilliant.

Drinks are raised. Cheers are hollered. Harding does not notice Krem's hand lingering on her waist.


	10. Pretty

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Interlocking

Chapter Ten: Pretty

"_He unconsciously leans closer to her as he says it and delights in the soft clench of her jaw he catches, the flex of her fingers over her arms as the words roll over her."_ - Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart. A story told in brief glimpses.

"Well, what the hell's buggered up your arse?" Krem is eyeing Iron Bull suspiciously as the Qunari rolls his shoulders and twists his neck to relieve the strain of his muscles.

They are standing at the edge of the southern camp of the Emerald Graves, where the rest of the Chargers and Harding's scouts mill about, waiting for the Inquisitor to finish stocking potions before heading out further into the sunlit plains. Krem is about to wish his commander good luck before heading back into camp to find the rest of the Chargers when he catches the Qunari's weary sigh and stiff movements. He crosses his arms and quirks a brow as the question leaves his lips.

Bull stretches his arms back and levels a devilish grin Krem's way. "Nothing you want to hear about I'm sure."

Krem shakes his head, but the hint of a smile is tugging on his lips. "You're probably right on that count, boss. I don't think _anyone_ wants to hear about _your_ arse."

Bull catches sight of Dorian walking past them with the Inquisitor and Varric, heading for the north exit of camp. He turns to give Krem a two finger salute and winks, his head nodding back to the Tevinter mage several feet behind him. "Ah, look, there goes my reason now."

Krem rolls his eyes. "You're shameless, you know that?"

Bull hoists his battle axe to rest over his shoulder as he turns to leave with the Inquisitor's party. "Yeah, but at least the demands of _my_ Qun are being satisfied, if you know what I mean." He lifts his eyebrows meaningfully to something behind Krem before heading out and the warrior turns to find Harding walking up the grassy path toward them. He cannot help the slight flush of anger that he feels, even when he knows Harding is too far away to have heard. Krem turns back to Bull's retreating form, arms uncrossed suddenly, as he calls out "I hope he blinds you with his…sparkles," he finishes haltingly, his fingers waving about at the glinting reflection of Dorian's robes.

Bull only waves a hand over his shoulder in farewell, his back still to Krem, and he knows the Qunari is chuckling quietly to himself.

"Isn't Dorian just so…pretty?" Harding sighs from beside him.

Krem nearly jumps at her sudden proximity, and then catches her words, grumbling as he turns to watch the Inquisitor's party moving further away. He runs a hand through his hair. "Maker, not you, too." His voice is an exasperated sigh.

Harding's eyes do not move from the mage growing smaller in the distance, her gaze steady and entranced. "I don't know why but he's just got this air about him. All pleasant and pretty things, you know?"

Krem quirks a brow in her direction, his arms crossing over his chest. "You know, he's not the only Tevinter around."

Harding continues obliviously, a smile easily following her words. "Like, whenever I see him, I just think 'crumpets and ribbons'."

Krem looks back out to the retreating forms, a hand rising to brush against his upper lip in thought. "It's the 'stache, isn't it?"

Harding seems to blink back to the present, turning to find Krem musing after the Inquisitor's party, his fingers alighting just over his mouth. She cannot contain her giggle at the sight.

Krem turns his gaze to her giggle and lowers his hand from his mouth. "What?" he asks warily.

Harding's arms come up to cross over her chest, her grin broad across her face. "There is such a thing as 'too pretty'. For my tastes at least."

He doesn't know why her words should make him bold, but there is the slightest lace of a challenge to his tone when he speaks, his words low and dangerously inviting. "That so?" He unconsciously leans closer to her as he says it and delights in the soft clench of her jaw he catches, the flex of her fingers over her arms as the words roll over her.

She narrows her eyes at him slightly, cocking her head back in a nonchalant lean as she looks up at him. "Don't worry, Krem. I'm not his type. Besides, it takes more than a pretty face to get my knees wobbly." Her lashes flutter minutely over her green eyes, crinkled in a wicked promise.

Krem pulls back a bit, his whole body flushed with an unfamiliar tingling. "'Don't worry'? What's there to worry about? I'm not worried. This is a worry free zone, lady." He cuts a hand through the air as though to signify it. He regrets it immediately, straightening his back and clearing his throat. He licks his lips as the mortification slowly creeps over him.

Harding simply watches him with a raised brow. "Uh-huh."

Krem swallows thickly and turns to look around the camp, his voice forcibly louder and surer. "Don't you have work to do?" He adjusts the holster for his weapon along his back in rich anxiety.

"Yep," she confirms cheerily. "Want to help?"

Krem looks back down to her and finds nothing teasing in her gaze anymore, only a patient hope and excitement. He finds the sentiment warm and enthralling in his own gut. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Why not?" he chuckles.

They set off together, sharing a pace they seemed to have been walking their whole lives without knowing.


	11. Reason

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Author's Note: I know we all love some kisses and they're getting there I promise! I'm a hopeless slowmancer. But I need them to come to certain realizations both themselves and between each other. Soon guys, soon. :) Please enjoy.

Interlocking

Chapter Eleven: Reason

"_Something flashes in his eyes that Harding cannot recognize."_ - Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart. A story told in brief glimpses.

"You're pretty good with that thing."

Krem's voice catches Harding's attention, but not enough for her to waver in her aim. She releases the arrow in her hold and it lands where the heart would be on the straw dummy, grazing her previous arrow beside it. She allows herself a triumphant smile and turns to see Krem standing next to her, leaning his weight to one leg, arms crossed over his chest as he appraises her shots.

He glances down to her. "Not that I ever doubted you before, Harding."

Harding pulls another arrow from her quiver and lines up her sights. "I could teach you a thing or two," she offers teasingly as her fingers release the string and another mark is made on the target across the snowy field.

"I'm sure you could." His voice is rich and warm even in the cold of the mountains. Skyhold looms not far behind them. "Why don't you use the training field back at the keep?"

Harding fingers the tip of an arrow in her hand, looking up at him as she considers it. "I don't know. Like the quiet I guess."

"But quiet doesn't present a challenge."

"It's just practice."

Krem watches her with eyes that seem to be lost somewhere in a time she thinks she might never be privy to. "Even practice should have some element of a real fight. Distractions. Moving targets." He motions toward the straw dummy she had been shooting at across the field. "Motivation. One of those things should always be present."

She props one end of her bow into the snow and holds it to her side, her other hand, still holding the next arrow, plants itself along her hip. "I have motivation. It's to practice," she answers cheekily.

Krem shakes his head, even as the smile graces his lips. "No, I mean, _why_ are you practicing?"

She blinks at him in question.

"Find something deep inside that motivates you to fight, to be better. Whether it's ambition, anger, protectiveness, fear, anything." Something flashes in his eyes that Harding cannot recognize. It speaks of pain and longing, of days spent in needful solitude, unknown and unseen by even those closest to him. "So long as it makes you feel something when you release that bow."

Harding pulls a heavy breath in and stares at him.

Krem inclines his head toward her and levels her with a tender smirk. "Practice for the sake of practice will never be what improves you. It's the reason behind it that will make you great."

Something tentative and anxious lights along her tongue and she wants to ask him what his reason is. But she halts herself, swallows back the words. The way he says it seems as though the _reason_ for anybody is something to be held sacred and close to the heart. Something unspoken and unshared. Something to be cradled in the dark recesses of one's self, where it can burrow deep and take root.

Turning her gaze from his to the sight of the straw dummy resting unassumingly across the far stretch of snow, Harding pulls her bow from the ground and levels the arrow in her hand to take aim.

She closes her eyes and takes a steady breath in, releasing it slowly. Behind her lids flash images from across the years. Her sister, all knotted brown hair and settling laughter. Her home, engulfed in flames, only to bleed into the image of a burning Haven. Two of her scouts, her friends, Brennan and Saleyrna, sprawled dead in the red-streaked snow. Her fingers shake in their hold on her bow.

And then suddenly, Harding sees Krem's face before her lids. Both sharp and soft. Rich and muted. Alluring and steadfast and striking a thrilling tremor along her skin that scares her with its intensity. She opens her eyes. Listens to his slow and grounded breathing beside her. Finds herself wondering how his breath against her skin might feel.

She releases the bow.

* * *

><p>It isn't until he is four pints deep that Krem begins to realize even ale cannot drown out the image of her face. The thick coil of anticipation when he is near her. The way his throat tightens at her closeness, the scent of her almost lost beneath the blood and snow and sweat. The way her freckles spread across her cheeks, dusting her light skin. Skin he finds himself aching to touch at nights.<p>

Krem pulls a ragged breath in and closes his eyes.

The way he imagines his fingers threading through her hair when he has his lips pressed to hers.


	12. Bloody Jowls

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Author's Note: I'm so excited for the next few chapters! I cannot wait to post and share with you some of my favorite scenes between these two. Also thanks to FenZev and JayRain for ruminating over a couple ideas for the following scene with me. Much appreciated. :) And thank you again for your continued support, readers. Please enjoy.

Interlocking

Chapter Twelve: Bloody Jowls

"_Harding can see the chestplate of his armor drenched in blood. She begins to shake."_ - Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart. A story told in brief glimpses.

"Maker, this place is dreadful." Krem looks around at the withered and rock-strewn Exalted Plains. He can only make out a section of the plains past their camp, where small cliffs taper off the horizon and obscure his view further.

"Tell me about it," Harding agrees. "Between the constant flies and pompous Orlesians and the foul-smelling dead things that keep coming at us? Yeah. I'm about ready to stab the Inquisitor. With a really, really big sword."

Krem can't contain his chuckle at her look, the pursed and tight lips, the furrowed brow, down to her angrily crossed arms. Harding shoots a glare his way.

"Can you carry one?" he teases.

She punches him in the ribs beside her.

He has to hold his side in mirth rather than pain, as he's overtaken by laughter.

* * *

><p>After the path to Ghilan'nain's Grove is cleared out by Inquisition forces, and the Inquisitor claims the previously unreachable camp, the Exalted Plains are relatively cleared of Venatori agents. Harding sends in her scouts to the entrance of an underground cave, seeming to be the entrance to a lost elven temple. She recalls Solas mentioning something called "Dirthamen" when the Inquisitor's party is around the campfire with them that night. It piques her interest, but she can't understand most of the words he speaks and figures there's not much use she could be in that arena anyway. Her job is to clear the area of danger for the Inquisitor to continue further. Anything to do with ancient pasts and unfamiliar worlds is not her territory. She leaves that to the Inquisitor.<p>

So, her scouts investigating the lost temple entrance, and the Inquisitor busy clearing out the Northern Ramparts, Harding is left to look over what treasures and missives were left by the Venatori in the area. She asks Krem to join her in perusing the maps and items left behind, hoping that his being fluent in Tevene will help to pinpoint any indication of other Venatori camps. He agrees easily, instructs the Chargers on sweeps he wants made by the damaged bridge in the west, and then the two travel deep into some of the rocky paths and caves the Inquisitor had recently cleared. The bodies of Venatori mages and warriors still litter the grounds around the small abandoned camps.

"I don't see much here, love," Krem sighs as he raises an unrolled parchment toward the slim light coming through the rocks above them, trying to get a closer look.

Harding continues sifting through the contents of a chest behind him. "It was a small chance anyway."

Krem squats down to drop the parchment beside the leather pack he was currently searching and moves to pull out a map. He hears the slow whisper of a hiss before he sees it's source. His body tenses immediately, his eyes darting to the entrance of the cave in narrowed slits. Harding catches his reaction instantly and has her bow drawn before he can fully raise himself to a standing position.

"What is it?" she whispers urgently, her eyes straining to see through the tall waving grass of the swamp.

Krem swallows. "I heard something, an animal I think." His voice is also a low whisper.

There is the steady hiss again and Harding catches the flicker of movement farther left of the cave entrance. "Gurgut!" she calls, releasing her bow quickly, and then the painful, furious shrieking of the animal echoes through the cave. The large slinking lizard rears back on its hind legs, arms swiping through the air and Harding can catch the glimpse of her arrow in its neck. It slams back down to the ground and is on them instantly.

Krem charges the creature, taking note of several others splashing hungrily through the swamp grass toward them, still a good distance from the cave entrance. His blade sinks through the wounded gurgut's neck, splashes of purple blood tainting the murky water around them. "Harding! We've got to get out of this cave before they corner us!"

"On it!" she yells above the terrible hissing and shrieking of the scaled beasts, because his back is to her and she knows he cannot see her nod. She rushes around his right and breaks into the unhindered light outside the cave, letting loose another arrow to land sharply in an oncoming gurgut's eye. It howls in pain, two of its pack rushing past it, toward them.

"Go!"

She feels Krem's hand push her shoulder and urge her in the opposite direction of the pack. She does not hesitate. Keeps running. Her legs are shorter, and the water is well past her knees. She curses as she splashes through the swamp, and half crawls over the ledge of rock before them. She is only aware of Krem behind her by his own loud splashing.

And then she hears him cry out in agonizing, heart-wrenching pain. She whips around, still sprawled over the ledge of rock and finds him face down in the water, thrashing violently as a gurgut pins his body with its weight, its jaws clamped tight over his right shoulder, tearing at the flesh. The water is flooded red instantly and Harding reaches for her bow on instinct, the fear clawing at her throat so that she cannot even scream. She lands an arrow in the gurgut's neck and it releases its jaw over Krem with a raging screech. Another arrow in its heart and it slumps into the water, still beside Krem.

Krem is pushing against the ground with his one good arm, his teeth grit in pain, spluttering in the muddy water. Harding cannot reach for him. She's too busy firing arrows into the five remaining gurguts closing in on them. Krem roars unsteadily and drags himself to his feet, reaching for the ledge of rock and trying to crawl over it. Harding can see the chestplate of his armor drenched in blood. She begins to shake.

"Keep going!" Krem's voice is a growl beside her, pulling at her elbow to get them over the ledge, the gurguts slithering through the wet grass mere inches from their feet. They push further up the rock, Krem's boot kicking forcefully into one creature's jaw and Harding clambers over the rock, her eyes locked behind them at the hissing monsters with tongues flicking through their jagged teeth. She does not see the edge as she nears it, does not notice the drop until she places a hand where she expects more rock to be and there is not. There is the sharp pull in her gut when she realizes she is falling, and then she is reaching for Krem beside her, finds his blood slick and warm between her fingers when they grasp for his arm and they are both tumbling down over the ridge of rock.

Everything goes black.


	13. Barrier

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Author's Note: Sorry to leave you on a cliffhanger yesterday but since I'm trying to update every day I figured you wouldn't be left hanging for long. So here you go. Please enjoy.

Interlocking

Chapter Thirteen: Barrier

"_Harding's voice is laced with a tender hidden question. 'To better attend to your wound…I will need you to disrobe.'"_ - Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart. A story told in brief glimpses.

Krem stirs to consciousness and finds Harding's face looming over his. He blinks, tries to swallow and finds his mouth dry. Then there is the sudden and tearing pain at his shoulder. He cries out without meaning to, and then clenches his jaw tight, sweat beading down his face.

Harding's voice is soft and yielding, her hands smooth along his cheeks as she eases him through the first initial bout of pain. When he has enough awareness he tries to raise himself up. His shoulder and chest are a tangled mess of burning and throbbing, but with the help of Harding at his uninjured side, he manages to sit up and rest his left shoulder against the rock wall, his hands bracing himself in the mud. He looks up and around them, catching sight of the shadowed pit they were in. They seemed to have fallen into a small ravine amongst the rocky ledges on the outer edge of the swamp. Thick roots tangled around the mud beneath them. The chasm seemed to only stretch a dozen feet or so either way, and probably a dozen feet or so high, as best as Krem can judge, on a semi-steep climb. There are no trees obscuring sun from the pit but it is still shadowed. "What happened?" he manages to croak out.

Harding sighs, leaning back on her haunches as she looks at him. "Fell into this hellhole running from the gurguts. We both got knocked out for a few minutes there."

At the mention of the beasts, Krem looks back up to see if they still lingered up on the ground, waiting for them hungrily.

"They're gone now," Harding supplies. "Didn't stick around after I shot one in the mouth as it was scurrying around the edge looking for a way down." She sighs and brushes hair from her face that had escaped her bun.

Krem thinks he can make out the scaled foot of the dead creature hanging just over the edge above them. When he looks back down he notices the wide scratch along Harding's cheek, and the way she cradles her left elbow. Her face is marred in dirt, her hair matted with mud and twigs from the fall. He imagines he must look the same. He pulls in a breath and winces with the pain of it.

Harding eyes him with a hesitant concern. "The ledge isn't so steep that we couldn't try to climb back out, but with your wound…"

Krem manages a quick smirk, though shaky and pain-riddled. "I can't make the climb. And you can't carry me," he finishes.

"Exactly." Harding rests her hands on her thighs as she kneels before him, her shoulders sagging somewhat.

"Alright," he starts, clearing his throat. "Easy fix, that. You climb out and get help. Gurguts can't do much to me from up there."

Harding shakes her head. "No. If raiders show up, you're an easy target for any man with a bow. Best plan is to stay here together until my scouts make their rounds. Once we don't show up for call they'll come looking."

Krem opens his mouth to try to argue but she holds a finger firmly in the air, halting any words. He huffs.

"You can't change my mind Krem so just deal with it. I'm staying."

Krem sags back against the rock slightly, a wave of relief he won't admit to washing over him. But the uneasy way that she is looking at him now lights a caution in his eyes. "What?"

Harding cocks her head to look at him, her eyes intent and wary on his, but it is a soft wariness. It tells of quiet trepidation. "I tried to stem the blood flow as much as possible but there's only so much I can do through the chinks in your armor."

Krem glances to her hands held light in her lap and notices the bloody palms for the first time.

Harding's voice is laced with a tender hidden question. "To better attend to your wound…I will need you to disrobe."

Krem watches her in steady silence for many moments. Harding does not turn her gaze. He begins to wonder how much she knows. How much she _thinks_ she knows. Begins to wonder if that face, that warm and promising face he sees in his dreams, will still look at him the same when the armor comes off. There is the sharp drop of dread spreading through his stomach.

Harding swallows, shuffles her knees just a little closer to him and pulls her leather pack from her back to rest between them. "I only have one potion left. Maybe it will last you until we are found." She pulls the vial from her bag and holds it out to him.

He realizes this is her giving him an out. He would take the potion regardless. But he does have one of Stitches poultices on him and that would need to be rubbed into the wound. Double the healing properties would definitely be helpful, especially with the filth they were in and all the rotting corpses filling up the plains. Who knew what diseases were spreading around? It wasn't smart to risk infection. And the potion could only help so much. They had no guarantee of when Harding's scouts would find them.

Krem blinks at Harding. Looks at this small, dirt-smeared woman kneeling before him. Looks at the sharp glint in her eye, the tight line of her mouth, the soft and straightforward outreach she offers him. The way her freckles still peek out defiantly from beneath the grime. The way she opens herself up, fully and honestly to him. He realizes he doesn't know what shame is in her presence. Never has. And he realizes now that that cold sting of dread he felt earlier is because he _wants_ to open himself to her as well. Wants to bear all the ugly, gruesome things he keeps buried inside.

But this. This shameless moment between them. This is not the ugly. This is not the gruesome. This is the beautiful. This is the honest. This is the worthy, the significant, the needed.

This is Krem. This is the man she wants. And she will not back down from that.

Krem finds his smile easy as he lifts his left hand to reach for the latches on his chestplate, wincing slightly from the pain of it.

Understanding flashes swiftly across Harding's eyes and she places the potion back in her pack, silently moving to help him with his armor.

And slowly, painstakingly, but unashamedly, they begin to remove the barrier between them. Together.


	14. Open

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Author's Note: These last couple of chapters have been very important to me and this one continues along the same vein. I really hope that it does justice to these characters. Thank you for your love, readers. Enjoy!

Interlocking

Chapter Fourteen: Open

"_One of her hands drifts unconsciously across the edge of his collar bone, the skin smooth and tanned beneath her touch. She hears his slight intake of breath."_ - Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart. A story told in brief glimpses.

Harding realizes that Krem was only wounded because of her. She plays the incident back in her mind. Tries to remember the desperate run through the swamp to escape the gurguts. She curses herself for disregarding the dangers of going off just the two of them. She hadn't thought they'd encounter much danger, seeing as the Inquisitor had already cleared the Venatori camps littering the Exalted Plains. And the gurguts had not been seen since that first pack nested in what now serves as their camp in Ghilan'nain's Grove. They thought all the creatures were cleared out. Apparently they missed a pack. Harding grits her teeth in frustration. Being cornered in that cave they were investigating would have certainly guaranteed a worse situation, especially when it was just the two of them against more than a half dozen of them. And Harding realizes belatedly that Krem had acted out of concern for her. He could not have charged the gurguts if it left her unprotected. He didn't doubt her skill with the bow. But if one got past his line of defense and caught Harding in close quarters, then she was done. If he fell, she was soon to follow. He could only ensure her safety if they ran. And so they did.

Harding tries to recall the short and frantic trudging through the grassy swamp. The memory is blurred by fear and what she imagines is a mild concussion from the fall over the rock ledge. But she can remember the sound of Krem splashing through the muddy water behind her. She plays the sounds back through her mind and discovers his run was slowed. By what? She blinks in surprise and guilt when it dawns on her. He had slowed purposely so as not to pass her, so as to remain protectively between her and the gurguts. Her shorter legs couldn't plod through the water as quickly as his human legs could. And he had adjusted his pace accordingly, even knowing it put him in danger himself.

Harding is flooded with an angry guilt, her body trembling in raging shame. She shakes her head, her teeth grit tightly, and tries to find the words to thank him. But there are no words.

Harding locks eyes with Krem, her hands stilled against the wound in his shoulder, bandages bloody in her grip. There is nothing in his gaze that speaks of regret or anger at his choice. Nothing that tells her he expects this debt to be paid, even to be recognized. There is only the faint warmth of acceptance, the soft breath of relief at her wellbeing. And somewhere laced beneath all this is a demand. Nothing at all to do with acknowledging his actions in the heated encounter and everything to do with the intimate vulnerability of his state at the moment.

Harding's eyes glance reverently along the soft stretch of his shoulders, the tapered broadness. One of her hands drifts unconsciously across the edge of his collar bone, the skin smooth and tanned beneath her touch. She hears his slight intake of breath. There is grace and suppleness and strength to his form. All tangled up into one striking image. The lines of his shoulders, the firmness of his muscles, even the strip of thin leather binding wrapped around his chest. It all melds together to create one smooth, elegant line of human form. It all melds together to bring Harding to breathlessness.

Her eyes flick to his once more and finds he has not stopped staring at her. It lights a heat within her. He does not move to cover himself. He does not shy away from her gaze or touch. And the notion makes her bold. She opens her mouth to speak, finds herself leaning slightly toward him, one hand held against his wound, the other resting lightly along his collarbone.

Krem's eyes flick momentarily to her lips.

"Thank you," she breathes.

Krem furrows his brows at her, swallows thickly beneath her steady gaze.

She pulls her lip in and watches him. She does not know why she thanks him. Whether it is for protecting her or whether it is for this moment of open vulnerability he offers her. She wonders if it matters that it be clarified. She couldn't put it in any further words regardless. She wonders if anything else is needed when her heart already bears itself shamelessly and longingly to him. She wonders if "thank you" needs to be picked apart and critiqued and dissected past the simple thought it offers. She wonders if she even knows what she thanks him for herself.

Krem lifts his chin so that his head is inclined toward hers, and she instinctively moves her mouth toward his. There is a moment of breathless anticipation between them. Their eyes locked on each other's, their breathes halted in their chests, their hearts thudding in anxious trepidation. Harding can feel his breath along her lips when he suddenly pulls back with a wince of pain, his good hand coming up to grip tightly at his arm.

Harding blinks in surprise and then pulls back, her hands retreating from his wound. She can only wait helplessly until he steadies himself. She watches the beads of sweat trickle down his brow for a silent moment until he has finished breathing through the pain. She swallows tightly and moves her hands back to the bandages, continuing to wrap them around his shoulder, her eyes fixed and determined on his wound. "If Stitches is as good as you claim, that poultice should be kicking in anytime now."

Krem releases a tight, unsteady breath. "He is. Not to worry. Helps to have a beautiful woman bandaging me though."

She raises her gaze to him and finds him smirking, his face marred with pain and dirt and an inherent warm humor.

She cannot help the smile that breaks across her features, or the sudden flush that creeps over her. "Careful, Krem, a girl could get used to this."

"Maybe she should."

There is something knowing and longing passed between their gazes. And then Harding hears her name called out in the distance, the familiar and welcomed voice of one of her scouts.


	15. Abandon

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Author's Note: So there is some kind of sorta bad news. I've been very proud of myself for keeping to my daily updating promise but I've suddenly hit a wall in the inspiration department. I'm trying to figure out how Krem and Harding navigate from here on in and I'm not producing anything I'm proud of right now. :( And I really don't want to just post some meaningless filler chapters simply for the sake of updating daily. I want to give you guys quality stuff. But it's apparently not coming to me in a timely manner. So I'm going to take a small breather to stockpile a few chapters so that I have a little bit of a buffer to start posting again. It won't be long at all, probably a week or so. But I figured this chapter would be a great place to get in that breather and start the next arc of their story. I do hope you enjoy it and I'll be back soon I promise! I love these guys way too much to keep away for long.

Interlocking

Chapter Fifteen: Abandon

"_He does not greet the end with anything but fulfillment in his heart."_ - Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart. A story told in brief glimpses.

It takes Krem only a few days to get back to duty with the help of Stitches' healing touch. Harding is immediately assigned to the Storm Coast shortly after the two are found in the small ravine of the Exalted Plains. She has hardly time to say goodbye. Instead, her and her scouts survey the Venatori camps Iron Bull's Ben-Hassrath information network has informed them of, and they await the arrival of the Inquisitor and the Chargers to help secure the Qunari dreadnaught's passage. She does not get to greet Krem and the Chargers when they arrive at camp for the mission. Duty brings her further south along the coast, and she finds herself watching the sandy beach in wary trepidation. She has never doubted Krem's ability before. But with his recent wound and the involvement of the Qunari, Harding recognizes the familiar seed of dread blossoming in her stomach.

* * *

><p>Krem is mid-swing when he realizes. When he recognizes this dance of blood and burning magic. This ache and throb of quaking muscles. This loud and vicious battle that echoes in his bones. That threatens to overtake him.<p>

This is the edge. The precipice. The moment when one realizes their death and their life lay vulnerable in another's hands.

He may swing his sword and shout his orders and rally the other Chargers beneath his war banner. But when they are outnumbered as they are, their only hope is that Bull chooses to reinforce their position rather than the Qunari dreadnaught.

It is a strange thing. To know that your life, your breath, your chance at tomorrow, lies with the actions of another. Krem is experienced enough to recognize when his position is outmatched. Sensitive enough to his comrades to understand when they are wearing. And accepting enough to know what his commander must do. He does not expect to last the battle.

In some part of his mind, he is resentful. Thinking that his past with Bull and their commitment to their fellow Chargers is enough to sway the Qunari from his life-long duty. Enough to shake that blind and unquestioning loyalty to a people who do not even recognize him for _him_. Krem likes to think that they have spilled enough blood and shared enough truths to be called friends, brothers even. And he hates that it is not enough. He hates that he will always be lesser in Bull's eyes than the importance of the Qun. He cannot help that selfish part of him. That part that will forever cling tight to the image of Bull in that tavern long ago, holding a hand to his bleeding, unsalvageable eye, and whispering "What's your name, lad?" through painful laughter.

Krem carries this memory buried deep in a heart he shares with no one. This is his own selfish remembrance. No one has a right to it.

And that makes the larger part of Krem, the part that still fuels his angry and powerful swings with his blade, to welcome his impending death. To accept, without spiteful anger or tender regret, that he lays down his life for rightful reasons. For a man he can be proud to die for. This is what keeps him grounded. What keeps him steady. What keeps him raging and strong and unafraid. He does not fault Bull for this death he knows is coming. And he does not carry anything but respect and admiration and fond remembrance for the man. He does not greet the end with anything but fulfillment in his heart.

Except for one thing.

Except for the image of Harding's face that flashes before his mind when he is roaring in trembling rage against the Venatori.

The thought that he has not touched that face himself. That he has not felt the soft warmth of her breath against his lips. That he has not woken to the welcomed heat of her body curled into him. Not bared his honest self to her. Not taken her into his arms and held her tight against everything this world threatens them with.

He likes to think she would hold him just as tightly, just as desperately, just as achingly.

He likes to think he might have grown to love her.

Bull's sonorous bellow sounds to his left and Krem whips his head to the sound. His Qunari commander, flanked by the Inquisitor and the rest of their party, flood onto the field beside them. Krem's breath comes haltingly and disbelievingly, his smile brilliant and blood-streaked across his face. His whole body floods with the sweet breath of relief and something certain and unwavering anchors deep within him.

His war cry is blood-curdling. And defiant. And glorious.

* * *

><p>Harding turns to the sound of approaching footfalls. The Inquisitor, Iron Bull and the Chargers are coming across the hill toward their camp. Some are limping. Some are stoic. All are battle-weary and blood-splattered.<p>

Her eyes find Krem instinctually. She rushes toward them. Krem looks up to find her stopping hesitantly at the edge of camp, her face questioning, arms unsure at her sides. He moves instantly, without reservation, without hesitation. He ambles up the grassy hill toward her, his breath heavy in his chest, his hands reaching for her.

He drops to his knees before her, gathering her in his arms and his lips are urgent on hers. Needy and reckless and slick with a shameless heat. Harding is shocked into stillness, her hands resting dazedly and stiffly against his chest, her body unexplainably and instantly enflamed.

Krem breaks the kiss suddenly, pulls his head back just enough to rest his forehead against hers, to keep their breathes shared between them. He closes his eyes and tries to reign in that wild lash of emotion thudding inside his chest. Tries to memorize the feel of her against him. "I'm sorry," he breathes frantically. "I just-"

He does not get to finish. Harding has her hands framing his face, pulling him into her. She meets his mouth with her own, her kiss desperate and tender and heated all at once. Her lips moving with the thrilling realization that he feels it too.

This shattering, brutal tangle of emotion that quakes uncontrollably from within. This needful tremble of desire that lights along the skin. This welcomed, exhilarating clench of the heart.

They grasp at each other, unhindered, unrepentant, unafraid.

They kiss with willful abandon.


	16. Just People

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Author's Note: Okay, so I know I said less than 24 hours ago that I was taking a breather and now I'm a horrible liar. Because I just absolutely had to post this. And now I've got a bit more inspiration to continue. Pft, sorry guys, false alarm on that last Author's Note, haha. I'm hopeless for these two.

Interlocking

Chapter Sixteen: Just People

"'_Harding's important then?' Krem is silent for long moments, and then quietly, 'Yes.'_" - Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart. A story told in brief glimpses.

"Harding, huh?"

Krem raises his gaze to Bull at the Qunari's question. He holds his large battleaxe against the whetstone for sharpening and keeps his eyes focused on his task while he speaks to Krem. They are both sitting inside the smithy's building on the other side of the Skyhold courtyard from the tavern, the fire from the pit warm even from across the room. It fills the space around them in flickering, dim orange.

Krem weighs the small obsidian rock in his hand that he uses for sharpening blades. He sets his longsword next to him on the wood surface of the table, and reaches for his heavy maul instead. He pockets the obsidian and sighs. "Yes, Harding. Now let's have it."

Bull chuckles. "Have what?"

Krem reaches for the oiled cloth along the table top and starts to clean his maul. "The teasing. The jokes. Whatever it is I know is bubbling up inside you just _ready_ to burst. Come on, let's have it." Krem watches his hands move along his weapon. Something inside him keeps him from locking gazes with his hulking commander when he says it.

Bull shifts his weight in his seat and throws a smirk Krem's way. "What makes you think I have any jokes about it?"

"Because you have jokes about _everything_."

"Not everything."

"Everything important," Krem clarifies.

Bull can hear the tight swallow that follows the man's words even as he scoffs playfully, and he does not have to look up from his work to imagine the furrowed brow of his comrade, the tight frown gracing his features. He reaches a hand up to scratch at the stubble lining his jaw, pulling his axe away from the whetstone momentarily. "Harding's important then?"

Krem is silent for long moments, and then quietly, "Yes."

Bull's smirk is small and unseen by Krem. "Then I'm sure I'll have jokes before long."

Krem risks a glance at his commander and finds the Qunari placing his axe back against the whetstone again. There is the grating screech of metal as the axe is slowly sharpened. Krem speaks with a hesitant longing. "I just…I haven't been with anyone in…" Krem stops and swallows, his grip tightening on the handle of his maul. "In a long time," he finishes in one slow, heavy breathe.

Bull offers his warm chuckle in response. "I know. I've been trying to get you laid for ages."

Krem levels Bull with heated and narrowed eyes. "Harding isn't just a lay."

Bull smiles at the staunch and ready defense in Krem's voice, the sudden assurance of meeting his eyes, but he isn't intimidated by the man's glare in the slightest. "But you think you're ready for that with her? Because that's the issue here." Bull pulls his weapon from the whetstone and settles his gaze on Krem. "Intimacy," he continues. "That's what this is about. What you're scared of."

Krem grits his teeth minutely. "I'm not scared, I'm…cautious."

Bull sighs and places his axe along the table beside them, leaning one elbow along his thigh as he watches his lieutenant. "She knows about your…predicament."

Krem is unsure whether Bull is asking or clarifying, so he simply nods in answer.

The Qunari shrugs one shoulder. "And she chose you anyway."

His eyes steady on Bull, Krem rolls the words along his tongue before speaking, one hand moving to rub the back of his neck. "I just…I just want this to go right so badly." His eyes fall to the floor, his hand slipping from his neck to rest stiffly along the thick shaft of his maul. "She's…Maker, boss, she's something." His eyes flick back up to Bull and there is everything certain and desperate and needful in his gaze. "I don't know what this is between us. And you know I've never been great with words, but this…whatever this is, it's intense and uncontrollable and it keeps me awake at night wondering what kind of man I want to be. What kind of man I _need_ to be. To keep her close." Krem shakes his head, closing his eyes at his admission, chuckling in self-admonishment. "Shit, Chief, I don't know. I think maybe I'm too far gone for the saving."

Bull watches his lieutenant steadily, cocking his head slightly at the way Krem shifts his weight uncomfortably in his chair, turning to gaze across the room at the fire that casts them in shifts of hazy light. He cannot help the warm promise of contentment that flickers softly in his chest at the sight. If there was anyone in this world he wished happiness and love and a life well lived to, it was Krem. If there was anyone he wanted to spare the tender throb of regret, it was Krem. If there was anyone he thought deserved the assurance of another's touch in this dark terror that was their lives nowadays, it was Krem. Always Krem. Always this brother of his.

Always this man who bleeds honor and loyalty and unspoken trust that keeps him constant in an unconstant world.

Bull rubs at his chin gruffly. "You've got good instincts, Krem. So does she. I don't think there's anything you _need_ to be but exactly what you are at this very moment.'

Krem tries to keep his hands from shaking.

Bull throws a smirk Krem's way. "I'll be the first one to call you on your bullshit. But Harding?" He chuckles. "Nothing to call there. That's just people. That's just connection. Don't think too much about it. Just trust yourself. And she will, too." Bull picks his axe back up and puts it to the whetstone. Light sparks jump from the contact and Krem is still and silent before him.


	17. Again

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Author's Note: Maker, these two have got me bad.

Interlocking

Chapter Seventeen: Again

"'_Do you mean it?' she risks. Her words are shaky and hesitant, her eyes unable to meet his_." - Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart. A story told in brief glimpses.

No one knows that Harding used to have a terrible fear of horses. A petrifying, bed-wetting, panic-attack-inducing fear. She had watched her sister being thrown from a mount when she was only nine, her sister six. She had heard the loud and terrible crunching of bones when her sister slammed against a rock, her leg twisting at a painful angle, her voice broken and hollowed as she screamed. It took many years and many tentative attempts to begin understanding the beautiful danger than horses presented. It was a fear she had not wanted to keep living with. And it was a creature she had wanted to love once, when she was tiny and knee-scraped and fearless. She never believed in fear enough to let it cripple her.

Now, she strokes the mane of a horse tenderly, appreciatively, lovingly. Harding is standing in the warm, thick air of the stables, one hand resting on the neck of a tan Anderfel Courser, the soft silk of its golden mane lighting over her knuckles, her other hand moving a brush along the side of the animal, pushing up on her toes to reach higher.

This is how Krem finds her. Light-embraced. Smiling. Weightless.

She looks up at the soft rustle of hay to find Krem standing in the threshold of the stables, leaning against the wood of the open door, arms crossed, watching her.

She tries to reign in her breathing, tries to push down that fluttering hiccup of emotion that moves against her heart. Her smile widens, her hand stilling against the horse. "Hey," she offers.

Krem smirks at her, and she must steady her trembling breath of anticipation.

"Hey," he answers warmly. He pushes off of the open stable doors and walks toward her, stopping just by the head of the Courser, one hand coming up to brush along its flicking ear and soft neck. "I've been looking for you."

Harding runs her brush along the tan horse softly. "Fitting. I've been avoiding you," she says teasingly.

Krem chuckles. And it is light, and gripping, and fills the stables with a welcomed sweetness. "I sure hope not," he laughs.

Harding moves her gaze back to the horse, her cheeks warming. How can she say that she is breathless at the thought of him? That she could not keep away for the life of her? That she has waited, impatient and writhing, for his words and his warmth and his lips?

How can she say that she dreams of him at night?

Harding swallows tightly and keeps brushing the horse. "Well," she begins, her voice more confident than she feels, "you certainly leave a girl with questions." She risks a glance beside her and finds his eyes steady on the horse before them, his hands limp at his sides.

"You can ask anything." His voice is low and hesitant.

She thinks he might be just as scared and hopeful as she is.

She is quiet for several moments, her brows furrowed, her fingers tangled in the soft hair of the Courser's mane. Her other hand stills its motion of brushing. "Do you mean it?" she risks. Her words are shaky and hesitant, her eyes unable to meet his.

He is silent long enough to make her regret asking. But then, raggedly, stunted with the tender breath of hopefulness, there is this: "With every inch of me."

Harding glances up to him and finds his eyes already watching her, his mouth set in a tight line, everything in his face eager and imploring and desperate. She finds her heart thudding painfully against her ribs. She finds her chest aching with unspoken need. She closes her mouth tightly and watches him for several long seconds.

The Anderfel mount rears its head back and nays at the absent touch of Harding. It grabs her attention and she is blinking at the animal in front of her, her words and breath catching in her throat.

She hears Krem chuckle beside her and watches as he runs a hand tenderly along the animal's neck, patting once, twice, and then his touch retreating. Her eyes watch where his hand had been long after it has left.

"I kissed you because I wanted to."

His words are a surprise, bringing her gaze back up to him, her throat tight with unspokens.

"And I want to again." He does not move his gaze from hers, does not apologize for his forwardness or his proximity or his needful stare.

She is only silent and shocked for a moment, and then her face is sliding into happiness, her chest rising in aching relief. She swallows thickly, nodding, her eyes already moist with hot tears she will not admit to. Her lips are trembling. She nods again, more sure, more demanding. Moves so that she is on her tip-toes and meets her mouth with his as he leans down.

He closes his eyes, bows down to wrap his arms around her waist, breathes a soft sigh of relief and desire against her lips, revels in the flutter of her lashes against his cheek.

Her hands fall from the horse beside her, brush still tucked into her palm, her body light and taken and right in his arms.


	18. New

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Interlocking

Chapter Eighteenth: New

"_She likes that much is unspoken between them_."- Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart. A story told in brief glimpses.

Harding laces her fingers through Krem's, watches the warm and enthralling link of their hands between them. "I don't know how long we'll be in Crestwood."

Krem holds tight to her fingers, ignores the sounds and smells of the Skyhold courtyard around them. "I'll be here when you get back," he says, smiling.

She looks up at him. "Wish you could come with."

Krem's eyes crinkle as his smile widens. "Same here, short stuff."

She narrows her eyes at him, but does not unlink her fingers from his.

He chuckles, and then leans down to place a soft, short-lived kiss on her lips.

She is breathless already, her cheeks warm and pink-tinged. She still doesn't know how he can look at her so. Like she matters. Like she is _all_ that matters. It makes the words tight in her throat, makes her fingers clench his instinctually in their hold.

Krem looks over to where her scouts are gathering close to the Skyhold gate. "Make me proud," he offers, looking back to her.

She sighs, pulls her hand from his to adjust the bow over her shoulder. He moves his hand to his side, missing her touch already. Harding pulls a deep breath in, offering one last smile as a goodbye. "Always," she answers. She turns and joins her scouts.

Krem watches her for a long time past the gate.

* * *

><p>Harding informs the Inquisitor and their party about the undead attacking the townspeople of Crestwood Village. She suddenly remembers her first encounter with Cremisius Aclassi. The dark and rain-soaked plains of the Fallow Mire. The respect and admiration of watching him control the battlefield. The unexplainable pull of him when he spoke. The way she naturally looked for him after that.<p>

The way she finds herself missing him already.

Maker, she had it bad.

* * *

><p>Krem is sitting at their small informally claimed table at the tavern when she arrives back at Skyhold. His eyes find her instantly, as though he recognizes the moment she steps into the building. As though he feels her when she is close.<p>

She'd be lying if she said she wasn't excited by the idea.

He raises his glass to her in greeting, and shortly after receiving her own mug of ale from the bartender, she makes her way to him. She seats herself across from him and smiles blindingly.

"Welcome home," he greets, his own smile wide and inclined toward her.

Home. The thought makes her breathe in a subtle, welcomed release.

"Good to be back," she answers. She resists the urge to rush around the table and into his arms. She still doesn't quite know how to navigate this new and unfamiliar feeling. She isn't sure what is appropriate and what is expected and what is normal. Nothing about the world they are living in and striving in seems to be 'normal' exactly. Even their tentative hand-holding a couple days ago, when she was readying for departure to Crestwood, was instinctive and unplanned. But when she thinks back to it, she is still nervous. Still flustered. Still unsure what this means. What his eyes and his touch and his lips really mean. She likes that much is unspoken between them. And she wants this so badly, and needs this so intrinsically, that she resists even putting it to words. As though that will break this unknowable dream, this elusive contentment. As though speaking it aloud will make it tangible, make it easy for the grasping, and thus easy for the shattering.

"Anything of import?" he asks. His fingers flex over the handle of his mug while he watches her.

She shrugs. "The Inquisitor and Hawke met with the Warden contact. I hear we're heading to the Western Approach by next week. But after stocking up, my platoon and I are supposed to head back out to Crestwood. Apparently there's a keep there the Inquisition wants bad."

"Right back out there, then?"

"Yep," she sighs. She watches him hesitantly for a minute. "And your orders?"

He lets her stew in quiet unease for several moments while a smirk breaks its way across his features. "Crestwood by nightfall tomorrow."

She is unaware of the blinding smile that spreads across her face. "Then we'll be working together again?"

Krem nods, taking a sip of ale, his eyes never leaving hers. "Looks like."

Harding leans back in her chair and sighs contentedly as she cradles her tankard in her hands. "Good," she whispers, her gaze falling to the table between them. She purses her lips in thought a moment before continuing, her eyes still not reaching his. "I've missed you."

She hears him chuckle across from her. "Don't get too distracted tomorrow," he says smugly.

Harding reaches across the table and smacks his shoulder. "You're insufferable," she huffs.

Krem laughs and holds his shoulder in mock hurt. "You wound me, dear lady."

"I'll do more than that," she teases warningly, taking a sip of her ale to hide her smile.

"I look forward to it."

She blinks at him. Wonders how he can still make her flush after all this time. Wonders how he can still light this fire of excitement in her. Like she is fifteen and dazzled by naïve affection. Like she is a first-time lover. Like he can still silence her into breathless anticipation.

And he does.

And she loves it.


	19. Deep Peace

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Author's Note: Sorry I was missing for a minute there. Life kind of happened. I'll spare you the paragraph of explanation and just let you enjoy the chapter.

Interlocking

Chapter Nineteen: Deep Peace

_"Harding hesitates for a moment, her lip caught between her teeth. 'I had a sister, you know.'"_ - Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart. A story told in brief glimpses.

"So that's Caer Bronach?" Krem wonders aloud, arms crossed over his plated chest as he eyes the dark keep across the wet plains of Crestwood. The towering fortress rises shadowed and imposing in the rain. Behind him the Chargers and Inquisition forces are preparing for a raid, weapons sharpening, potions stocking, last words spoken.

Harding raises a brow toward him, standing beside him. "Think you're up for it?"

Krem scoffs loudly, looking down at her with pride and assurance. "Want to make a bet?"

Harding smirks, her fingers already itching for her bow. "Kill count? Or rooms cleared?"

He reaches a gloved finger to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear, and the tender touch is at unexplainable odds with his challenging look. "Ladies' choice."

Her smirk turns devilish. Harding thinks this might be fun.

* * *

><p>They sit around a firepit that night, in the cool and windy courtyard of the captured keep. Harding's scouts have only just retired, most of the Chargers finishing pitching their tents, the Inquisitor already pouring over maps and strategy with their party and the Inquisition Lieutenant charged with overseeing the keep. Harding expects to investigate the recently drained lake the next day before the Inquisitor moves in to close the rift deep within the caverns. The keep should begin seeing reinforcement and a full appraisal of its defenses by then. And shortly after, their return to Skyhold.<p>

Grim and Skinner sit around the fire with her and Krem. The Orlesian elf is finishing cleaning her blades by the firelight, and Grim is chewing on the last bit of meat clinging to the ram bone between his fingers. Harding glances up to see Krem's face beside her, his features dancing in the light of the fire, her hands moving closer to the flames to warm.

He is already watching her. She starts at his stare, her smile slowly spreading across her lips before she can realize it. Krem chuckles at being caught, shaking his head. "You cheated," he says.

Harding nudges his knee beside her with her own. "Did not. Don't be a sore loser."

"You never mentioned you'd be flanking the courtyard. Gave you the perfect vantage point for knocking off raiders." He eyes her suspiciously.

Harding raises her brows at him. "You realize you're griping about how many bad guys I killed. _Bad_ guys," she intones, laughing.

"I'm not griping," he muses lowly, his words grumbled almost petulantly. "I would have won if the bet had been 'rooms cleared'. You stood in the same spot for _the whole run_. Just planted yourself on the ramparts and shot into the crowd. I had to go through half the bloody castle."

"And you were marvelous," she comforts teasingly, one hand moving to pat his knee.

He narrows his eyes at her, but there is the subtle tug of a smirk hinting at his lips. "Don't humor me."

Harding's laugh is loud and natural in the air around them, the warmth of the fire before them tinting her cheeks a charming pink. "You shouldn't have made it ladies choice then."

Her laugh does things to him he thinks shouldn't be possible.

* * *

><p>Harding has seen her fair share of corpses. Still. Walking. Mindlessly trying to eat her. She's fairly certain that last bit isn't really how it goes, but it definitely seems like it half the time. She should not be thrown by the sight of corpses or walking dead anymore. Most days she isn't. She knows each corpse harbors nothing of the original owner. But seeing the sunken Old Crestwood Village stirs something within her.<p>

The rotting, still half-standing homes. The rooms with huddles of decomposing bodies that tell her where the families lived. The remnants of once-homes that speak of life and sun and laughter. Children's toys. The bones of a dog. A traditional Crestwood marriage chalice.

Something catches in Harding's throat as she surveys the muddy, water-logged grounds of Old Crestwood. Her scouts are already back at Caer Bronach. The Inquisitor's party is down below in the water-logged caverns.

"Alright, Chargers, gather your gear. We're heading back to the keep!" Krem calls out to his companions around the ruined town square. He steps up beside Harding as she looks out over the destroyed homes. His voice is softer and laced with a warmth she recognizes now as only for her. "You okay there, love?"

Harding forces a smile and nods, looking up at him. "Yeah, just…'what ifs', you know?" She sniffs slightly.

Krem furrows his brows at her in question, one hand coming up to rest reassuringly between her shoulder blades.

Harding shrugs her shoulders and chuckles, but there is something tender and vulnerable in the sound that Krem does not recognize. "Like, could this have been Redcliffe? Could this have been _my_ home?"

The thought scares her more than she is willing to admit. But it also lights a fierceness inside her that she revels in.

Krem swallows thickly and looks back out to the dead village before them. He rubs a thumb gently against her back where his hand rests. "No point in asking that. Only brings harder questions."

"I suppose," she answers, her eyes turning to gaze out as well.

Krem watches the sun dance across her face.

Harding hesitates for a moment, her lip caught between her teeth. "I had a sister, you know."

Krem furrows his brows at her words. He swallows tightly and lets her continue. He doesn't think he needs to ask about the 'had'.

Pulling in a quaking smile, Harding glances up to Krem. "She didn't survive the siege of Recliffe ten years ago. During the Blight." She looks off past his shoulder where she doesn't have to meet his eyes. She wonders if she will ever stop feeling like this when she thinks of the broken body of her sister. "She was fourteen," she whispers.

Krem is silent for several long moments while he watches her. Eventually she turns from him and pulls a hand up to wipe at her moist eyes. She takes a step forward and past him, so that he cannot see her face when she almost breaks.

"What was her name?" he asks softly.

Harding clears her throat, pulls a heavy breath in. When she smiles to herself it is not wholly sad. There is remembrance and a tender fondness. "Poppy," she answers. She releases a chuckle, her face turning back to look at Krem once more, her tears dry. "Short for Poplin. Mom _really_ liked to sew."

Krem cannot help the laugh that escapes him, but he holds a hand to his mouth quickly, and clears his throat. There is nothing of admonishment in her gaze though, when he looks at Harding.

She only shrugs her shoulders, her smile an unknowable tangle of nostalgia and regret. She looks back at the sunken town.

Krem watches her a moment, and then steps up beside her once more. He crouches down next to her, his fingers digging into the moist dirt. He pulls a handful of soil into his palm and weighs it in his hand, staring at it.

Beside him, Harding is watching him in questioning silence.

Krem closes his eyes and breathes softly as he speaks, his voice a steady rumble that lulls Harding with its smoothness. "Tu ad persentio quietis. Terra ex persentio quietis." He opens his eyes to watch the wet soil sifting through his fingers as he releases it back onto the ground. He moves two dirt-covered fingers to his forehead and then offers them up to the sky before him.

Harding is breathless beside him. "What does that mean?"

Krem turns his gaze to her from his crouched position, her head just higher than his. He rolls the words along his tongue in thought before speaking. "Roughly, it means 'Deep peace to you. Deep peace of the earth.'" He cocks a crooked smile her way. "Old Tevene goodbye."

The tears are warm and quick against her eyes again, but this time they are welcomed. She lights a hand along his shoulder and leans in to place a kiss along the smooth skin of his cheek. She pulls back and locks eyes with him, her smile wide, nothing of grief to her face. "I think she would have liked you."

The thought settles something inside her she doesn't have a name for.

* * *

><p>Additional Author's Notes: I took some heavy creative license with the Tevene that Krem uses. I did a variation on Latin, so it's not really anything you can look up or get a clear definition on. But hey, this is fanfiction. So why the hell not?<p> 


	20. Home

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Interlocking

Chapter Twenty: Home

"_She is all freckles and sun-kissed cheeks. 'I'll see you tonight then?'"_ - Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart. A story told in brief glimpses.

After returning from Crestwood, Krem is stuck at Skyhold for a couple days while Harding scouts out the Western Approach. Among the expectance of Venatori and the common wildlife, there is word of a Grey Warden presence. The Inquisitor, Hawke and a small party, including Blackwall, travel there shortly after Harding sends missives of the Warden locations.

Krem finds himself spending an inordinate amount of time in the rookery. Leliana watches him with knowing and sad eyes, and she shares the news she receives from the missives out of the Approach. Krem doesn't bother asking why she does. She isn't their spymaster by chance. But he's secretly grateful that the bard's inner romantic is supportive of his involvement with Harding, even if she does so silently.

Finally, Bull receives orders to take the Chargers out to the Approach. Something anxious lights within Krem when he hears the news. And it is not solely because he knows he will see Harding again shortly.

The reports Leliana has shared with him do not bode well for the Inquisition.

* * *

><p>The Western Approach is dry and hot when Bull and his Chargers arrive. They look around camp for Harding. Krem finds her easily, sitting before a crate of dried food, maps spread over the wood of the crate, her form crouched over the parchment in determination. She rubs her chin in thought, her eyes grazing over the marked routes on the maps before she hears the approach of Bull and the Chargers. She looks up from her seat and a smile breaks across her features.<p>

Krem motions toward her and Bull makes his way toward the dwarf. "Chargers at ease," he calls. And then, "Harding. Good to see you."

"And you," she answers, standing from her seat. Her eyes glance over the Chargers in appreciation. "Can't say I'm not glad to see you."

"I'm sure," Bull teases, his eyes glancing toward his lieutenant beside him.

Krem crosses his arms and narrows his eyes at his commander. He wants nothing more than to rush to her and pull her tightly against him. But he resists. He knows they will have their time when business is taken care of. "And what have you found?" he asks Harding purposefully, ignoring Bull.

Harding cocks her head behind her as she speaks. "There's a nasty bit of Venatori off to the west. An unexplainable straggling of darkspawn further north, and expect phoenixes and quillbacks across the whole Approach. Also, there are rifts to the immediate south and north. I'd avoid those until the Inquisitor makes their rounds."

Krem cannot help the measure of pride that fills him when she speaks. So efficiently. So precisely and competently.

Bull nods and hoists his battleaxe over his shoulder. "Sounds good. Looks like we're heading west, Chargers," he calls to his comrades behind him.

"Alright!" cries Rocky. "Taking out Vints is always fun."

Krem turns a raised brow to the dwarf.

He grins sheepishly, his hands coming up in a surrender. "Present company excluded of course."

Krem shakes his head.

Harding's words pull their attention back to her. "The Inquisitor wants us all to push north toward Griffon Wing Keep while they handle the Grey Warden outpost with Hawke and their contact. I don't know what's going on over there exactly but it doesn't seem to be anything pretty."

Bull shrugs his shoulder with the axe resting over it. "Inquisitor knows what they're doing. I'm not too worried."

Krem watches Harding as she looks off past the dunes.

She sighs. "Glad one of us isn't." She shakes her head and pulls in a deep breath, looking back at the mercenaries before her. "We're moving on to the keep in the morning, with the Inquisitor and their party, if all goes well at the Warden outpost. We need you to make enough ground this afternoon for us to move in and make camps at Nazaire's Pass and Craggy Ridge. That will give us control of the south and we can commit troops to taking the keep without worrying about being boxed in from the other side."

Bull smiles. "Why, Harding, you've the soul of a strategist. Ever consider moving up in the ranks?"

Harding chuckles and shakes her head. "I'm good where I am, Bull. Let someone else deal with the heavy decisions." She waves a hand through the air dismissively. "I just wanted to get out of Redcliffe and shoot things."

"Well, you're doing a damn fine job of both." Bull chuckles and motions for his Chargers to head out. "Good catching up, Harding. We'll see you by nightfall."

Bull does not urge Krem into motion when he catches him staying back behind the group. He knows he will follow shortly and lets the man say his goodbyes.

A warm smile breaks across Krem's face when he looks at Harding, his comrades heading past him in the warm sand. She answers with a blinding smile of her own, stepping closer, so that she can reach for his hand. He links his fingers with hers softly.

She is all freckles and sun-kissed cheeks. "I'll see you tonight then?"

He nods. "Tonight."

She squeezes his hand in her hold and sighs. "Be safe." She begins to pull away, regretting the work she still has yet to do.

Krem smirks and pulls her quickly into him before she can release his hand. She stumbles and laughs in mild surprise, bracing against his solid form. He wraps his hands around her frame and leans down to hold her. "Always," he breathes softly above her head.

Her fingers curl into the armored leather at his sides and she sighs into the crook of his elbow. He smells like copper and spice.

Krem pulls away reluctantly, his hand grazing over her arm and then the soft skin of her palm in quiet farewell. He gives her one last smile and turns to join the Chargers. Harding watches him go for several minutes before she moves to return to her maps.

* * *

><p>Krem finds himself moving fiercely and quickly through the Approach. Venatori agents fall before his mighty swings, bloody and cursing. His bellowing war cries are followed by swift and earth-shattering blows. The heavy flood of his own labored breathes in his ears slowly begins to drown out the sound of crunching bones. He does not know why he is such a sudden storm of power. He only wants to be rid of enemies. To clear the hot sands. To finish his duty with the Chargers and make the way safe for the Inquisition troops. He is anxious to make his way back to camp where he knows Harding is waiting. He only wants to return home.<p>

He stops at the thought.

Return home.

He realizes that he has just thought of the meaningless, temporary camp as "home". Only because _she_ is there. Only because she is waiting for him

Krem wonders when she had snuck into his heart and planted herself there.

He wonders when the thought of her began to come as naturally as breathing.

When the sight of her alone was enough to settle his heart and his breath and his fears.

He wonders when _she_ had become his Home.


	21. Making Time

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Author's Note: Can I just say how awesome you people are? Just really. Really friggin' awesome. You lovely readers you. Please enjoy.

Interlocking

Chapter Twenty One: Making Time

"_Her fingers grip his neck to her tightly and she hears him sigh against her hot skin."_ - Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart. A story told in brief glimpses.

The Chargers and most of Harding's scouts are already asleep when she finishes her debriefing with the Inquisitor. She sighs as she pushes aside the flap of the tent's entrance and walks into the warm night. The sentries are making their rounds across the dunes near their camp at Craggy Ridge. Harding is surprised at the unexpected and random gusts of wind that blow through the Western Approach's night sands.

She wipes a hand across her face and looks around the nearby campfire. There is only Krem. She blinks at his form as he sits on a log before the fire, his face to the flames, his arms resting over his knees. She cannot help the smile that spreads across her face at the sight.

His brows are drawn taut in concentration, his lips parted slightly, the flames casting his tan skin in rich and orange light. Everything else is shadow. He looks up at her approach, shaking the thoughts from his mind, his face suddenly alight. She reaches him as he sits up straight.

"Were you waiting for me?" She narrows her brows at him and wonders how the thought can excite her so.

He chuckles softly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "Yeah." He levels a longing look her way. "Haven't had much time. You know, you and me."

Harding steps closer so that he can wrap his arm around her waist and hold her beside him as he gazes up at her. She lights a hand along his chest, her other arm looping around his shoulders, and she looks down at his face to find it earnest and hopeful. She smiles, and the nearby firelight flickers across her freckles in a way that makes Krem anxious to press his lips to them, to feel the warm and soft skin of her beneath his mouth.

"I know," she answers, her fingers drumming lightly against his chest. She looks down to where her hand rests. The sight is so foreign and unfamiliar, and yet, nothing has ever felt so right. "I'm sorry," she offers sincerely, her mouth forming a frown.

Krem shakes his head, his arm holding her closer. "Don't be. We've each got a job to do. We knew this going in."

"Still…"

Krem chuckles good-naturedly. "Still, you just want to ravage me, that it?"

She thunks him on the chest, laughing. But her own smile is blinding and spreading across her cheeks. "Not if it meant blowing that ego up any larger."

"And if it didn't?" His voice is smooth and low between them.

Her cheeks grow warm and she cannot take her mind from the feel of his hand holding her to him as his arm rests lazily around her. The feel of his fingers playfully and absentmindedly running along her hip. She pulls in a steadying breath and moves her hands to cup his cheeks as she leans in closer, boldly, excitedly. "Play your cards right, Mr. Aclassi."

She can see the heavy rise of his chest as he watches her, the flicker of desire in his eyes as his gaze travels to her lips. She smiles devilishly and leans closer, pressing her mouth to his. He is hesitant to respond at first, having wanted to let her set the pace of their intimacy. But when she moves her lips against his, and touches the tip of her tongue to his lips, he sighs into her mouth and opens to her. Their mouths slide against each other heatedly, needfully, with the quiet breath of desire. Something searing and unnamable coils tight in each of them. His tongue pushes against hers teasingly, the soft rumble of her moan felt between their kiss and he must get closer. He breaks the kiss momentarily, and Harding is questioning and panting, when he moves his knee to the other side of her so that she is standing between his legs, facing him.

His other arm comes up to join the one already wrapped around her waist and he pulls her to him. She laughs at his eagerness, stumbling into him, her hands falling against his chest, the heavy metal of his armor cool to her scorching skin. "Impatient, are we?"

He only growls playfully, moving his mouth up to meet hers and he has her bottom lip caught between his teeth. He nibbles lightly, and swipes a tongue along the lip before delving in once more. She sighs at the intrusion, her own tongue meeting his, her words lost and drowned between their slick mouths. She winds her hands around the back of his neck and presses further into him. They are lost to each other for several moments. There is only heat, and the slow exploration of his hands along her sides. The sound of their mouths, wet and smacking, as they find each other. Harding's breath is labored and heavy in her chest when she finally pulls away.

Krem follows her instinctively, his eyes fluttering open when he wonders at the sudden loss of her heated tongue in his mouth. He blinks as he watches her lick her lips, trying to reign in her breathing. His fingers dig into her hip tightly and a low sound rumbles up her throat as she closes her eyes to the sensation.

Krem could watch her all night.

She opens her eyes and immediately her gaze falls to his full and moist lips, breathes away from hers. A smile pulls at the corners of her mouth.

They simply watch each other in silence as they attempt to calm themselves. Harding's fingers play along the nape of his neck as she tries to speak. "I wish we had more time. For us. For…things like this."

Krem cocks his head back to look at her and links his hands behind her back, so that she rests against his chest. Her face is everything light and promising and open above him. It makes the breath tight in his chest. "So do I, love." He places a soft kiss along her mouth, just the barest hint of warmth and then he is pulling back and watching her again. "But we'll make time. When all this is done."

Her gaze is wary and hesitant as she pulls her lip between her teeth. "That could be a long while, Krem."

He nods, sighing. But his smile does not waver. "It's possible."

She swallows thickly. "Could you wait that long?"

His eyes are warm and dark and everything she is needful of right now. His voice is a whisper between them. "I could. And I will."

She pulls her mouth tight, her breath aching in her throat. "However long it takes? However long this mess of a world might take to right itself?"

He releases a soft chuckle as he watches her. "The world couldn't be right without you, Lace. That's worth waiting for."

She must look away or the heat will overtake her. She blinks wildly, licking her lips in anticipation. "Smooth talker," she mumbles lowly.

Krem's lips are at her neck and her heart stills in her chest. "But you love it," he breathes between kisses, his lips against her jaw, just below her ear.

Harding tries to steady her breathing but it is pointless. Her fingers grip his neck to her tightly and she hears him sigh against her hot skin. "I do," she releases on a ragged breath, helpless, her eyes fluttering closed. "Maker, but I do."

Krem hums a soft approval into her neck and slowly pulls back to watch her face.

She opens her eyes to his and releases a half-laugh, half-snort. "The things you do to me." She is shaking her head.

He smiles blindingly. "Give me time. I can do more."

She rolls her eyes. "Now I'll never get to bed."

He runs his hands up her sides to her shoulders, and then rubs along her arms. "Something to look forward to then."

She pulls away just enough so that she isn't pressed to his chest. They still do not release their hold of each other. Her gaze is suddenly thoughtful and wary. "You're with the Inquisitor tomorrow, right?"

He smiles proudly. "Yes, ma'am. Storming Griffon Wing Keep. The Chargers have been itching for some more Venatori action since our run-ins this afternoon."

She finds it easy now to share his pride in the Chargers, her own smile making its way across her cheeks. "Then make me proud." She thinks of the morning he saw her off to Crestwood, the same words he asked of her.

He moves his hands to her wrists and pulls her loose hold from his neck. Holding her hands up to his mouth, he places a quick kiss on each before smiling up at her. "Always."

* * *

><p>Harding watches the keep from a distance, nestled safely in their camp at Craggy Ridge. She cannot make out anything from the stoic, silent fortress. Not from this distance. She cannot hear the shouts and grunts. Cannot see the swing of blade and rush of spells. Cannot gauge the turns of the battle. Cannot feel the pump of blood in each of their veins as they advance on the Venatori forces.<p>

She cannot know where Krem stands in all of it. The blood and the quickness and the harsh sling of death.

Harding bunches her hand in her leather tunic, where she feels her heart thudding violently in her chest.

It becomes harder each day to see him off with a smile in the midst of this war.


	22. Promise

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Interlocking

Chapter Twenty Two: Promise

_"He swallows thickly, his voice a low hum between them. 'Are you scared?'"_ - Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart. A story told in brief glimpses.

Krem is panting and sweat-covered when he looks up to find the Inquisition forces milling into the recently captured Griffon Wing Keep. He sits on a fallen column, the head of his maul resting on the ground between his knees so that he leans against the shaft. He blinks in the blinding sun, tries to steady his breathing. Bodies of the Venatori agents are still warm and bleeding out in the keep's courtyard.

Bull is not far, inspecting the rest of the Chargers and checking in with the Inquisitor.

Krem sees Harding coming up the worn and sand-covered stairs into the courtyard. She is walking beside Knight-Captain Rylen, her regiment of scouts trailing behind her. They stop just upon entering the courtyard and Rylen takes his leave, moving to the Inquisitor across the sun-filled square. Harding's back is to Krem then, as she directs her scouts, and swiftly, the dozen or so men and women disband with their orders.

Harding sighs and Krem can see the slump of her shoulders from where he sits, exhausted. He swallows, wants to call out her name, but she is already turning.

She catches sight of him, bloodied and bruised, but with a wide, brilliant smile spreading across his cheeks.

She feels her breath leave her suddenly, and the harsh clench of her heart that had not left since the night before finally starts to relieve itself.

They simply share gazes for several moments, the sun and the motion and the sounds of the courtyard lost to them.

Harding remembers to breathe.

* * *

><p>"So, tomorrow's the siege." Krem's voice is a low whisper in the night. He stands with Harding before her tent. He holds her hands in his.<p>

She looks up at him, her smirk heavy with false bravado. "Care to make another bet?"

Krem laughs, shaking his head. "No thanks. I've learned my lesson."

Some small amount of genuine warmth finds its way into her smile at his laugh.

His own grin slowly fades as his eyes drift off past her shoulder. "Don't think Adamant's going to be quite like the others anyway."

Harding looks down to their joined hands and listens to the steady silence of the sleeping keep around them. "I never thought we'd be fighting Wardens. It doesn't seem right."

Squeezing her hand in his lightly, Krem answers her with calm words. "Not about 'right', love." There is sadness in his voice that Harding wants to cradle to herself.

She sighs and looks back up to him. "I've seen too many good men die. I don't want to see any more. But I'll do what I must. For the Inquisition. For my scouts." She cocks her head and watches him in anxious need. "For you. And for us."

He swallows thickly, his voice a low hum between them. "Are you scared?"

She is quiet for a while, enough for Krem to pull her to him and hold her head against his sternum, one hand threading through her hair. He hears her exhale slowly against his armor.

"Not…not for myself, no," she begins. She pulls her head from its rest against him and looks up at him, her fingers curling into the leather guards of his arms as they lay wrapped around her. "It's just that…I've never gone into anything like this with so much to lose."

Krem can only nod, can only think of the blood and the fear and the silent anguish he has seen on his comrades' faces before. He remembers the night the Chargers lost Slickwit. The sight of her blood-drenched fingers held tight in Grim's hands as he holds them to his chest, shaking with the sobs. The slow, halting breathes that raked along her lungs as Dalish knelt beside them shaking her head and Bull stood watching, fists clenched at his sides. Krem remembers the spasms that wracked Slickwit's body as she spluttered her last goodbyes, coughs splashed in blood. The heavy, growing silence as the Chargers watched helplessly.

Krem remembers what it means to lose someone.

He holds Harding just a bit tighter, his voice a ragged croak that betrays him. "I'll be watching you."

Harding shakes her head, her lips caught between her teeth. "We both know that's not what's going to happen tomorrow." Her smile is shaky but strong. "Like you said, we each have a job to do. And I know we'll get it done. I know we'll see each other when it's all over." She swallows tightly and watches the furrow of his brow at her words. "I'll be fine." She exhales a breath and laughs at herself. "_We'll_ be fine."

Krem's eyes are dark, his breath quick in his chest, when he leans down to cradle her against him, his cheek falling upon her hair. He does not let her go. "I'll be watching you," he repeats, surer, louder, as though to convince himself.

She smiles into the cool metal of his armor. "I know," she breathes softly.

But she remembers what war feels like in the quick heat of the flames, the bellowing roars that drown her own thoughts, the sharp tang of blood and ruined flesh that floods her nostrils.

She knows that they haven't a chance if they are each distracted by their need for the other.

And she also knows that Krem needs this embrace. So she holds him silently, and tightly, and with the heavy whisper of dread spreading through her chest.

* * *

><p>The first thing Krem sees is fire. Bright and quick and swallowing the keep in a dark, hollow promise. He nods to Bull, and shakes hands that are heavy with promise and trust. He watches the Qunari head off with the Inquisitor. He rallies the Chargers in a war cry that seems lost in his own heartbeat.<p>

He gives one last look behind him where he knows Harding and her scouts lay in wait to reinforce the battlements once they are taken. He cannot see her from where he is. Cannot keep his promise.

He swallows down that heavy trepidation and turns to look back at the looming keep before him. All through the air he can hear screams and howls and unearthly rending.

They advance.


	23. Too Far In

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Author's Note: Whew! Been a hot minute, huh? Sorry, just started a second job and time has not been my bitch lately. But yays for a longer chapter this go-around. I also wanted to write the next chapters before I posted this one because...well, you'll see. Please enjoy!

Interlocking

Chapter Twenty Three: Too Far In

"_Everywhere there is blood and flame and the foul stench of demons. Krem's smile tells of menace and viciousness."_ - Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart. A story told in brief glimpses.

Inquisition forces flood through the destroyed gates of Adamant Fortress. The Inquisitor is one of the first, surrounded by their party of Blackwall, Vivienne and Iron Bull, to break into the war-battered courtyard. Krem and the Chargers follow in their wake, rushing past the battering ram, weapons raised, voices bellowing.

They set up a ring behind the Inquisitor immediately, allowing them to push forward as the Chargers guard the flank. Everywhere there is blood and flame and the foul stench of demons. Krem's smile tells of menace and viciousness.

He calls out orders and positions to the Chargers and they follow immediately. Dalish sets several fiery glyphs around the edge of the courtyard, burning up Grey Wardens as they run across them unknowingly. Their howls of pain are drowned out by their comrades raging cries as they rush past the burning, shambling victims. Grim plants himself on the east side of the courtyard, his shield bashing into the first oncoming demon, knocking it to the ground, where Grim stabs it cleanly through the heart with his blade. He whips around in time to knock an oncoming Warden's sword down into the ground, and then smash the shield up and into the man's throat, stunning him momentarily as he stumbles back, coughing. He cuts him down quick. Grim has only a moment to recognize the cold rush of magic sweeping past in the next moment, as he drops to the ground, his shield slammed into the dirt, covering him, a harsh wind of ice bursting against it. When the gale finishes, he stretches his jowls, trying to break the freeze and stinging cold from his neck and jaw. He pushes from the dirt, his movements slowed and icy when he breaks into a run at the nearby Warden mage who sent her magic on him. He times her expected icy flash of escape when she casts Fade Step and he twists his sword to catch her mid-rush. His blade slices across the tender flesh of her stomach and she is gasping a bloody cry of surprise and pain, and then slumping to the ground, still. Grim is already moving on the next target.

Rocky is planted in the rear of the formation, alongside Dalish. As she sends out fireballs toward their charging enemies, the dwarf lobs an explosive past the advancing Inquisitor's party and blows the oncoming pack of demons out of the secondary gate. The courtyard trembles with the aftershocks, several Wardens screaming to their end as they tumble off the blasted walls with the debris. The Inquisitor and their party finish the remaining floundering Wardens and demons from the blast, pressing forward still. It is an endless flood of enemies and Rocky grabs at his bow along his back, fitting an arrow to it immediately and sending it sailing through the throat of an archer along the high wall.

Stitches guards Dalish and Rocky from any lingering attackers closing around the rear of their formation. He catches sight of a small band of Wardens and shades coming in from a room off the southern edge of the courtyard. Dalish catches the motion as well and her arms sweep up to bring a wall of flame before them. But not before the largest of their group rampages at them. The hulking warrior releases a roar that sets the air to trembling, his battle-axe raised and gleaming above his head as he charges past the flames. Stitches pushes off the bloody stones of the square and runs at him, twisting left just as the warrior brings his axe down, and one of his daggers cuts swiftly across his side. The warrior grunts in pain, stumbling slightly, blood gushing from his ribs, but he does not release his weapon. Instead, he swings back with the giant weapon, clumsily, and Stitches barely ducks in time. He slashes quickly with his other blade, cutting the hulking Warden at the knee so that he falls to his good knee, slamming into the dirt, dropping his blade to press his hands against his gashed ribs. Stitches ends him quickly, mercifully, a swift dagger to the back of the man's neck and he is falling face-first and limp to the dusty ground.

The three others of the pack finally make it past Dalish's wall of flames and Rocky picks off the archer of them before the elf can even take her sights. Stitches rushes forward and attempts to finish off the two Shades that accompanied the Warden party. He swings his sword up and parries the sharp claws of the first shadowy Shade as it swipes at him. The loud clang of claws and metal rings between them and Stitches jumps back from the second shade's swing and cuts at its other arm, ducking to roll out of the first one's enraged attack . He is back on his feet in moments, a blade through the chest of the first Shade, its form tumbling into shadowy dust as it clouds his view. He hears the thunk of an arrow just as the remaining Shade's claws rake across his back. There is the sharp, searing pain along his back and he drops to the ground, his knee digging into the dirt as he cries out in anguish. He glances back and sees Rocky's protruding arrow in the demon's shoulder, realizes he might have been sliced clean if not for the dwarf's interference. His hands are quick, and his wrists twisting, as he shoots his dagger arm out to the Shade close behind him, slicing through its dark and Fade-touched torso. It gurgles and jerks, the hot ash splashing fresh across Stitches' cheeks and he is pumping heavy, labored breathes through his chest. He pushes himself from the ground with shaking limbs and grabs a potion from his belt, swallowing the liquid quickly and tossing the empty bottle to the sand below. His back is still throbbing and raw, but the pain is slowly ebbing. He returns to Dalish and Rocky's sides immediately.

Skinner is battling the west flank of the formation with Krem. She parries the swing of a Warden rogue, both of their blades caught in a tangled web of blood-slicked metal. She grits her teeth and is about to push off the rogue when he head-butts her. She staggers back, her vision momentarily blurred, her head aching and swimming. Instinct tells her to move, and she is tumbling left before she can even see the danger. She catches the whistle of the rogue's blade through the air she had just occupied and she reaches to her belt, yanking a smoke grenade from it quickly. She gets to her feet, shaking her head to clear it as she throws the grenade to the ground before him. Skinner dashes out of sight while the rogue whips around quickly, a sharp cough tearing through his throat. The lithe elf has a blade slipped cleanly between his ribs before he can see her, and his knees buckle at the sudden searing pain, falling to the floor where Skinner leaves him to bleed out. Her smile is dark and brutal when she dashes toward one of the Wardens and two demons charging Krem. The female Warden catches sight of her coming up on their side but she is too slow to react. Skinner is already dropping down and sweeping a leg behind the woman's calves, knocking her back along the hard stone. The elf's dagger is sunk deep into her chest and twisted sharply before the Warden can even finish her scream. She notices movement to her right and finds Krem dispatching the two accompanying demons, but there is a flash of light several feet past him and Skinner bolts toward him.

"Krem, duck!" she calls as she runs, blood pumping furiously. He obeys without question, a fireball searing just past his bended back as he drops to his knee. There is another Warden swinging toward him. Skinner braces a hand along Krem's back and swings over, kicking out, her boot connecting forcefully with the oncoming Warden's helmet, knocking it and him to the ground. She lands with a thud in the dirt, sand billowing around her feet and she sends one of her daggers sailing into the throat of the mage who had conjured the fireball. It catches her just below the jaw, her head whipping with the force of it, and blood spills forth over her robes as she drops motionless to the ground. Skinner is at the mage's fallen body in moments, yanking the blade free from her lacerated throat. She looks back to find Krem slamming his maul into the face of the downed Warden she had kicked to the dirt.

The loud crunch of bones answers Krem's deafening swing, and he pulls the maul back into the air, blood and tissue spraying out as he whips the weapon back. He pivots in time to dodge the quick jab of a silent rogue, and he turns, swinging the full force of his weight and his weapon around to smash against the rogue's back. The Warden cries out, stumbling to his knees, his blades flying free of his hands. Krem's maul connects with his skull the next moment, snapping the man's neck in a sick and loud crack from the force behind the swing. There is a dark howl piercing the air then and Krem whips around to find a rage demon bearing down on them. He grits his teeth, his back searing with the faint pain of the near-miss fireball he recently dodged. His hands grip the shaft of his maul tightly and he rushes toward the beast. The burning demon glides across the bloody ground with surprising speed and Krem roars as he swings his weapon back and then surges forward, connecting his heavy maul with the side of the demon's fiery head. It howls and jerks with the forceful hit, splashes of molten flesh splattering the ground. "Dalish!" Krem calls in the brief moment before the demon surges forward. He twists out of the way as it reaches for him, all its weight behind the attack and its fluid, fire-laced body crashes to the ground and then surges back up. Krem is splashed with bits of burning demon gore and he winces at the searing pain just as the swift crackle of ice rushes past him. Dalish's Winter's Grasp snap-freezes the rage demon and Krem is already heaving his heavy maul into the air and crashing it down on the creature. Shards of ice blast into all directions as the maul connects forcefully with the ground. Krem tries to rein in his breathing, blinking the sweat from his eyes. He turns swiftly to call to the Chargers.

"Tighten up and press forward!" They follow without question, and the Chargers trail the Inquisitor's party as they press further into the courtyard. The end is almost in sight.

Krem looks up to the battlements where he knows Harding should be moving in, now that their forces have climbed the walls with the scaling ladders. He can only see blurs of skirmishes. And then barely, like a whisper through the smoke, he sees her perched at the rear of the wall, releasing arrows into the fray while the main Inquisition force pushes back the Wardens along the ramparts, her usual regiment of scouts planted alongside her as they fire into the swarm themselves. He allows a swift and quiet smile before he turns back to the fight. The Inquisitor is already dispatching the last of the attacking demons in the courtyard. They have only seconds to gather themselves and their breathes at the end of the fighting before Cullen rushes into the square with his guard.

"Inquisitor," he begins, but there is a sharp, piercing wale in the night and everyone looks up to the nearest wall to find a horde of demons swarming the ledge. One of the Inquisition soldiers tumbles from the wall into the courtyard and the sickening sound of his broken body slamming into the stones reaches even to them. Krem clenches his jaw. His eyes search the battlements frantically, but he has lost sight of Harding. His breath quickens in his chest, his fingers clenching the shaft of his maul tightly.

Cullen continues. "Inquisitor, we need you on the wall. The demons are pushing our forces back. We _need_ those ramparts, and soon, or we will not get a foothold in time." The Inquisitor nods and Cullen turns to Krem. "Chargers, you will hold this courtyard for the next wave, and then move into the inner square when the advance sounds."

Krem swallows tightly and nods his acknowledgement. Around him, the Chargers are bent over, hands along their knees, panting, and taking the potions that Stitches passes around the group. Grim rubs along his sore jaw. Rocky checks his remaining munitions in the pack along his waist. Krem's eyes move to the wall immediately.

Something is wrong.

Something is wrong and he knows it in ways he cannot explain.

All around them there is screaming and clashing metal and the sharp tang of ash filling their lungs. The air is heavy with death and bloodshed. Krem finds his heart clenching tightly, finds the panic settle deep in his gut when he cannot find Harding.

"Move out," Cullen calls. The Inquisitor heads toward the east stairs, and Bull calls to Krem before he follows.

Krem is about to turn his head to his Qunari commander when he sees it.

When he sees the small and ash-covered form of Harding much farther along the wall than she was before, the dagger in her hand cutting the shade down before her, her bow raised in her other hand to call her scouts' hale of arrows

_She's too far in_, he thinks frantically. Her name is on his tongue just as an arrow lodges quick and deep in her gut, the scream along her lips drowned in the chaos of battle between them.

So that she is clutching her stomach and falling over the high ledge in deafening silence.

So that all Krem hears is his own blood-curdling scream as it rips from him.


	24. Need

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Interlocking

Chapter Twenty Four: Need

"'_I need to go to her,' he cries heatedly."_ - Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart. A story told in brief glimpses.

Warmth.

Warmth and pressing air and the heavy lull to her lids as she tries to open her eyes.

And then pain. Sharp and overwhelming and pulling the gasp along her throat like her lungs are clenching around needles.

The pain is enough to bring her vision swimming blurrily back to her, enough for the tears to spring quickly to her eyes. Enough to grit her teeth and try to reach a trembling blood-slicked hand to her gut.

Somewhere near there are flames. She can feel the heat threateningly close.

Somewhere farther there is a scream. She blinks in pain-riddled confusion.

Her muscles quake in terror, her head falling back as she cries out to the searing throb that starts just below her ribs and then spreads to overtake her.

She starts to cry.

She starts to cry when her vision begins to blacken and she realizes it's blood she feels against her palms, sticky and hot and _so much_.

She starts to cry when she thinks of how she never said goodbye.

Harding loses consciousness, Krem's name lost and unheard on her lips.

* * *

><p>The first thing Krem feels is the fear, bone-deep and heavy and sounding like the ragged cry of her name. He moves toward the wall without realizing. He is shaking and cannot seem to stop, cannot seem to <em>want<em> to stop. He sees nothing but red for a long, terrifying moment.

Bull grabs his arm and holds him. "Krem!" he yells above the battle.

Something snaps inside him then.

Krem whirls around, his eyes wild and frantic on Bull's, his breath tight and quick as it thuds recklessly inside his lungs. "I need to go to her," he cries heatedly. He cannot recognize the voice that leaves him. It is tinged with a panic and fear he does not recognize in himself. He swallows thickly, his mouth dry and trembling. Inside, he is screaming.

Bull furrows his brows and something in his face tells Krem that he saw Harding fall as well. The massive Qunari levels his hard gaze on his lieutenant and speaks lowly between them. "You _need_ to hold the courtyard."

The first inkling of rage begins to bleed through Krem's panic. He purses his lips as though to speak but nothing comes. Behind Bull, Krem can see the worried and silent stares of the Chargers. Cullen and his guard are already gone.

Krem clenches his teeth and pulls his arm from Bull, his maul weighted and calling in his grip. "She could be dead," he growls, the words finding their way to burrow deep and tear into his heart. His teeth grind. His breath catches. His chest hurts. It hurts more than he ever thought it could and he cannot _breathe_.

Maker, but he can't fucking _breathe_.

His skin alights with tremors.

Bull does not back down. "Then there's nothing you can do for her."

Krem is silent. He doesn't think this twisting in his gut could be more painful, doesn't think he can stop himself from dropping to his knees if he even thinks her name.

Her _name_.

Bull turns to the Chargers, his battle axe hoisted in his hands, ready for blood and flesh and ruin. "Hold the courtyard. Until the last," he orders, looking to each of them in turn.

Krem cannot stop shaking for the life of him. Distantly, as though from another time, he can recognize the tang of ash and blood, the loud howling of demons, the booming crash of battered stone as the fortress is laid to siege around them.

None of it matters. None of it matters if she is lying dead and unseen somewhere he cannot reach her.

"Krem."

Bull's voice brings him back to focus and he looks up at his commander. Looks up at this brother who has led him through the dark and deep and desperate. Who has walked with him through days that promised death. Who has shown him the haunting light of purpose and loyalty and a life fulfilled. Who has never promised anything but the whole of himself, fully and undemanding and without reservation.

Who has asked of him the same, and nothing less.

Bull's eyes are dark and unflinching when he addresses his lieutenant. "Hold the courtyard. That is your duty. Many lives with depend on it, Krem." His gaze softens with something that Krem cannot recognize, a halting light that speaks of times he never knew the warrior. Bull swallows tightly. "Maybe even hers," he finishes.

Krem opens his mouth to speak but there is nothing there save for raw and empty cries. So he stays silent. He shuts his mouth tightly and closes his eyes, tries to reign in his breathing, tries to stop the unending shaking that wracks his body. Tries to think of duty and need and lives in the balance.

Anything but the sight of her eyes, unblinking and bloodshot, peeled toward the smoke-filled sky in a thankless and pointless end.

He releases a slow, agonizing breath, opens his eyes to Bull before him.

"You'll see each other when it's over." Even Bull wonders if it is a hollow promise. But he thinks Krem needs to hear it. He thinks he needs to hear it from _him_. He wipes a hand across his mouth and nods. "You know what you must do."

Krem tries to nod, tries to steady his grip along his maul.

Bull gives him one last look before he turns to the Chargers and nods silently. Then he is gone, running up the stairs that will lead him back to the Inquisitor.

Krem licks his lips, feels his heart pounding forcefully against his ribs, feels his feet heavy and immovable and rooted in sinking dread. He thinks to Harding's words the night before. Her promise that they will see each other when the battle is over. The way Bull had unknowingly echoed the sentiment. The way that thought is the only thing keeping him from breaking, painfully and loudly and with the steady echo of his cries amidst the keep's walls.

Krem looks to the ruined gates leading into the second courtyard. Slinking through shadow and filth are bright-eyed demons with blood-drenched claws. Something stirs inside him. Something hot and unquenchable and begging for blood.

Something that drowns the fear in dark need.

Something that makes him brutal and dangerous and ready.

Yes. Krem knows what he must do.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: Special thanks to <em>AnimeFanReader01<em> and _wyles77_ for pointing me in the direction of some wonderful artwork for cover photo options. And thanks to those kindly wishing they could draw for this story. Those thoughts are what keep this piece alive, and keep me so happy writing it. Also thank you to _nugdorable_ for your review. Since you were signed in as a guest I couldn't respond personally. :( But very glad you're enjoying the story. Happy reading guys!


	25. Fading

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Interlocking

Chapter Twenty Five: Fading

"_Something tells her this is wrong. She should not be here."_ - Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart. A story told in brief glimpses.

Krem holds the courtyard.

He has always known duty. Always known the cost. He has never resented it until now.

But he doesn't think Harding could love a man who abandons others when they need him.

So he holds his weapon a little tighter, he bellows his war cries a little louder, he breathes in rage and swings with desperate helplessness. He drowns the thought of her in a frenzy of blood and devastation. It is the only way he will survive this. The only way he will not lose himself.

Not one living soul passes him. Not one Warden. Not one demon.

No one escapes his wrath.

* * *

><p>Iron Bull finds Harding lying, unconscious and broken, behind one of the ballistae below the wall lining Adamant's outer courtyard. One of Harding's scouts, a skittish human woman with shaggy brown hair and bloody gashes along her right cheek and neck, is guarding the dwarf's prone form, slinging arrows into the crazed battle around them. As soon as the Inquisitor and the party finish off the last pride demon ravaging the troops, Bull rushes to them.<p>

The human scout flicks frantic wide eyes at the incoming Qunari, her bow raised before recognizing him, and then lowered with a slow breath. Around them, the Inquisition forces are pushing into the inner square of the fortress while the Inquisitor finishes off the last of the horde, the high walls and courtyard littered with corpses and the dark remnants of demons.

"Harding?" Bull questions, laying his axe on the stone floor as he kneels to attend to the Head scout.

The human beside him sighs, wincing at the pain of her wounded face, glancing down at them. "I tried to stop the blood flow, sir. But she…she's pretty bad…"

Bull can hear the woman's voice crack as she bends over, hands on her knees, panting.

Bull eyes the blood-drenched front of Harding's tunic, the arrow missing. He looks up to the woman as he reaches to his belt for one of Stitches's poultices. "The arrow went through?"

She is shaking her head. "No, sir. I had to – had to push it through so I could break it off and slide the shaft out. I hope…" She stops and takes a shaky breath in. "I hope it didn't make her lose too much blood."

Somewhere in the distance there is a deafening boom of shattering rock. The scout glances at the far end of the courtyard where the rest of her regiment are slowly finding each other and checking their wounded.

Bull reaches for the bunch of bandages hastily wrapped around Harding's ribs and pulls them down, undoing the side straps of her leather chest plate while trying to keep her as still as possible. Her face is drained of all color, blood trickling past her still lips. "You did good, scout," he grunts. He can barely catch Harding's waning breath. His brows furrow as he moves the leather chest plate aside and tears open the tunic underneath. Beneath, her light, smooth skin is punctured and bleeding profusely around her ribs. He dumps the contents of the poultice onto the wound, not even bothering to try to clean it first. There is little time, if any. He starts to rub the thick paste along her wound, his fingers deft and quick along her ruined flesh.

The scout behind him watches with her lip caught between her teeth. "I tried to get a potion down her throat but she was unconscious. Don't know how much made it into her system." She swallows and licks her lips. "Tried to guard her best I could, sir. Almost didn't get down in time."

Bull grunts in acknowledgement, catching sight of the short blood smear on the floor beside them, where he figures the scout had dragged Harding from the midst of the fray. He realizes the claw marks along the woman's cheek and neck probably came from whatever demon she had faced while protecting her lieutenant's vulnerable body. He flicks his gaze to the awkward jut of Harding's shoulder, the sharp and unnatural angle her leg is twisted in. A low curse leaves his lips. "The fall certainly didn't help."

The Inquisitor calls Bull from across the courtyard. He looks up and finds them waving him over. He turns back to Harding and ties the bloody bandages back around the wound. "What's your name, scout?"

"Jaelan, sir. Private Jaelan." She straightens up as Bull stands himself. Soldiers rush past them, their boots thumping along the sandy stone of the courtyard.

He nods to her gashed cheek. "Need something for that?" He picks his large axe up from the ground beside him.

She shakes her head. "I'm good to go, sir."

He allows the smallest of smiles to grace his lips at the scout's steadfastness. "Get her to a healer then, quick." He looks back down at the broken form of Harding and something twists sharply in his gut. "Or we might lose her." His lips dip into a tight frown, his face marred in blood and filth.

Jaelan nods, the other scouts of their regiment rushing up to them in the next moment. Bull nods one final acknowledgement and then he is running toward the Inquisitor and following them further into Adamant's hold in search of Clarel.

All he can see is Krem's face, flushed with silent horror as he watches Harding tumble over the wall.

* * *

><p>Harding does not know where she is. Her body feels light, lifted, not her own. Everywhere there is shifting, undulating light. Adamant fortress is a twisted, ethereal landscape around her.<p>

She calls out and her voice echoes until it dies softly into nothing.

It takes her a long time to realize she is in the Fade.

The thought sends her to trembling.

She has never dreamed in here before. Never known this other-worldy wonder that others have described to her.

Something tells her this is wrong. She should not be here. She blinks in remembrance and reaches a hand to her ribs as she looks down. Her torso is covered in sticky, warm blood. But there is no pain. Her fingers brush along the frightening sight of an arrow wound peeking through the hole in her tunic. She swallows thickly and licks her lips, her breathes quickening.

There is a sudden tearing thunder in the distance and she can make out the flickering burst of green in the far-off, hazy sky, her arm coming up to cover her eyes.

Whispers sound around her. She twists about to find the source but there is only the empty, blurry plane of the Fade. The hairs on the back of her neck tingle in anxious trepidation. There is faint movement all around her but she cannot see anybody. It is only the warped walls of the Fade-tinged fortress around her. It is only the twisting, sloping air that surrounds her. It is only the constant shift and light-filled Fade that taunts her. Warns her. Promises her of a sleep with no return.

Her lips are trembling when they whisper Krem's name. She wraps her arms around her small frame.

The air grows dark around her.

She should not be here.


	26. Why

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Interlocking

Chapter Twenty Six: Why

"_There was nothing won here tonight."_ - Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart. A story told in brief glimpses.

Adamant is a hollow victory for Krem.

There is the victorious shout of the Inquisition soldiers, the slow and dying silence of arms and siege weapons, the soft, barely-there breath of relief that washes over the survivors.

But Iron Bull is gone. Lost somewhere in the Fade with the Inquisitor.

And Harding lies somewhere broken, bleeding, maybe even dead.

No. There was nothing won here tonight.

* * *

><p>Krem is frantic as he rushes toward the temporary tent set up for the wounded. He does not even look to the dead slowly being piled on the far side of Adamant's outer courtyard. He cannot. Not yet. Not until he knows for sure that she is lost to him.<p>

The Inquisition forces are not in disarray, but they are limping, and disheartened, and without direction when they learn of the Inquisitor's disappearance. Cullen rallies the troops as best he can, directing wounded to a makeshift tent just outside the fortress and positioning the remaining regiments around the Wardens of the inner Adamant courtyard. They can only wait in the dark, smoke-filled night for the return of their Inquisitor.

Krem cannot allow himself to think of Bull's fate. He can only take one loss at a time, or he will break. He makes his way to the healer's tent, his eyes searching the prone bodies of soldiers littering the blanketed ground, the mage healers and herbalists rushing around the wounded, milling through the thin spaces between cots and spread furs along the sand. A small, ash-covered elf rushes past him and he grabs her by the elbow, a short yelp of surprise escaping her lips as she jerks to a halt, her wide blue eyes looking up at him.

"Harding," he pants helplessly. "Scout Lieutenant Harding. Is she here?"

The elf grips a bundle of bandages to her chest and shakes her head. "I don't…"

"Is she here?" he demands, his eyes pleading on hers, his fingers unconsciously digging into her arm.

She winces slightly and points a finger across the small field of wounded. "Ask Healer Slater. He might know. Now please," she motions to the groaning man lying close by their feet, gripping his mutilated arm.

Krem swallows and releases her silently, already moving toward the other side of the tent, sifting through the rows of soldiers lying helpless and bloody around him. He finds Healer Slater kneeling, hands spread over an unconscious woman with sandy blonde hair and pale skin. Krem blinks in surprise when he realizes the woman is missing her right leg from mid-thigh down. He is flooded with a dangerous fear suddenly. The bright glow of Slater's magic rescinds from his hands as he sighs and nods to a stout dwarven man beside him. The woman is carted off and Slater stands, tiredly, achingly, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Krem makes it before the dark elven mage quickly, and Slater turns to find a long bloody gash along his arm, the dark promising bloom of a heavy bruise above his brow, the wild needy look in his eye. Before Krem can speak, the elf raises his hands as though in a surrender and addresses him. "I can't take you right now, messere. I have more pressing cases. Please, the herbalists can help with the pain until a healer is available."

Krem shakes his head quickly, his breathing labored, the throb of his own injuries distant to his mind. "Scout Harding," he begs. "Have you healed her? Is she…?" He cannot finish.

But Slater recognizes the desperate haggard look of fear in Krem's face and waves a hand to follow him, milling his way through more wounded until they reach the edge of the tent where Harding lies unconscious and blanketed on the dark sand. Krem rushes to her immediately and kneels beside her, one hand reaching into her hair, the other slowly pulling the blanket from her.

He has only a moment to breathe in quaking relief at the sight of her softly rising chest, when Slater speaks behind him. "I'm sorry."

Krem's heart stops its frantic beating. It simply stops. He is all trembling skin and deafening silence. He cannot bring words to his chapped lips, cannot stop his hand from its tight grip in her hair.

That soft and fragrant hair matted in blood and dirt and ash.

There is a sigh behind him as Slater continues, moving to walk around them and kneel on the other side of Harding. "Her scouts got her here in good time. Had they not been so quick, or had that Qunari not applied that poultice, we'd have lost her for good. But…"

Krem's eyes flicker in hesitant recognition when the elf says 'Qunari'. "What are you saying?" His words are a croak as he glances up to catch the dark elf's hazel eyes.

Slater rubs a hand along his mouth, his brows furrowed tightly. He looks down at the pale, still dwarf. "I set her leg and shoulder but she lost a lot of blood. Maybe too much."

"What are you _saying_?" Krem repeats, a low, threatening growl. He clenches his jaw tight as he watches the healer before him.

Slater looks back up to Krem. "I'm saying we've done all we could. It's up to her now."

Something snaps in Krem suddenly. "All you could?" His voice is a dark rumble. "All you _could_? And what was that?"

Slater blinks at the man before him.

Krem motions at the healer and is filled with an unknowable ache, burning and demanding and relentless. It tastes strongly of regret. "You're a mage. _Heal_ her," he cries desperately.

Slater's eyes are soft and knowing as he watches Krem. "It is not so simple. Something happened when the Inquisitor tore open the Veil. Our magic is..." He stops momentarily, thinking of the right words to describe the recent flush of unnatural power emanating from Adamant, the churning of magic in his veins that feels both familiar and frightening. The air is tainted in dark and twisting enchantment. "It's unpredictable, hard to navigate. Something about the rift and all those sick rituals the Wardens were doing, it's affecting us here, and likely in the Fade as well." He pulls his lips into a tight frown, sighing. "There are many we cannot wake."

Krem looks down at Harding's still form. She looks so vulnerable. So lost and fragile and _small_.

So small that Krem fears he might break her if he should try to hold her.

A flicker of desperate thought lights inside him and he turns his eyes to Slater, his brow set, his throat tight with hopeless recklessness. "Do you need blood?" he croaks. And something in him hates that he asks it but he cannot help the words as they leave him. He thinks of haunting, frightening times of his childhood in Tevinter. Thinks of the dark and powerful magic he has witnessed when blood had splashed freely along the streets. He pulls his hand from the blanket along Harding and reaches across her form to spread his hand, palm up, toward the healer. "Take mine," he offers without hesitation.

Slater pulls his features back in disgust and righteous anger, and he must steady that ready sting of words on his tongue when he sees the dark and desolate look in Krem's gaze. The warrior's eyes shift frenziedly between his own, his brow quaking, his jaw tight, the tears hot and unrelenting. There is everything desperate and impossible and painful about this man. Slater's anger at Krem's suggestion is tempered, mildly. He clears his throat and shakes his head, his words low and regretful. "It doesn't work like that."

"Then _make_ it work."

Slater huffs. "Were blood magic something I even considered, it would not help. It is out of our hands now."

Krem grinds his teeth in helplessness and he pulls his hand back in hollow defeat. "But…but you're a _mage_." He cannot seem to relinquish the thought.

Slater sighs in knowing and soft sympathy.

Krem swallows tightly. "You can do so much. Just tonight, we've seen what magic can do. It has summoned demons. It has started this war. It has torn the fucking _sky _open. And you're telling me it can't heal her?" Somewhere inside, Krem is dying.

Slater puts a hand to his forehead and looks once more at the face of Harding lying between them. "I'm sorry. I've done what I can. Magic cannot save her now."

"But why?" His voice is a broken plea, his eyes on Harding's face, his whole body suddenly tired and heavy and defeated. "_Why_? How can magic kill so many, destroy so much and yet…not be enough to save one woman? Just _one woman_."

Slater pushes from his kneel and stands before them. He brushes the sand from his robes and looks out across the far stretch of dying soldiers. He swallows thickly and pulls in a deep breath. "It is true in all things, magic or not, that living is never so easy as dying. We wouldn't want it so bad if it were." There is something distant and aching in his words, and Krem can do nothing but sit in painful and powerless silence. He hears the shuffle of Slater's feet as the elf moves around them to head back to the other wounded.

"Now, we can only wait," the healer offers quietly, the light hope of an empty comfort lacing his words, as his hand grips Krem's shoulder in passing, and then is gone.

Krem pulls his hands from Harding and folds them tightly together. The sky crackles with Fade-touched magic. Adamant lies in dark wreckage behind him. Everywhere there is blood and broken stone and earthly ruin. Everywhere there are the heavy sighs of the living. And the dying.

He turns his lost gaze to Harding's face.

He can only wait.

He can only wait in halting, overwhelming agony.

Krem finally lets himself break.


	27. Embrace

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Interlocking

Chapter Twenty Seven: Embrace

"_His shoulders slump in defeat, his head shaking."_ - Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart. A story told in brief glimpses.

Krem is immovable from Harding's side until there is another burst of Fade rift in the inner hold of Adamant. The moment the Inquisitor and their party fall out of the Fade into the middle of the Adamant courtyard. After the initial bout of surprise and commotion, Krem hears word that the Inquisitor lost a companion in the Fade.

Krem is running like he has never run before. The Chargers follow quickly behind. They halt just outside the gates and watch as the Inquisitor, Cullen and a small guard force tread wearily from the fortress. Krem's eyes find Bull in the group.

His mouth moves to speak but there are no words. He stands stiffly in the sand as Bull makes his way to his Chargers. The Qunari has a weary look in his eye when he stops in front of Krem. There is the wide bloom of burned and enflamed flesh along Bull's shoulder and the steady trickle of blood flowing from his temple. But he is alive.

Krem can only stand in aching silence as a bloody, shaky smirk spreads across Bull's lips and he drops a heavy hand to the other man's shoulder.

"Lieutenant," he croaks. There is the scraping chuckle along his voice that tells of a long night and a longer battle.

Something sharp twists in Krem's chest. "Chief." His voice breaks, his jaw clamping tight.

Bull only nods, and moves to pull Krem against him. They hold each other tightly, unashamedly, for a long, needed moment. When they pull back, Bull's hands still alighting Krem's shoulders, a deep frown mars the Qunari's face.

"Harding?"

Krem's lip begins to tremble.

She finally wakes a day later.

* * *

><p>Krem is asleep for the first time in almost two days when Harding's eyes open.<p>

She blinks hesitantly, drawing in a sharp breath at the stinging throb in her ribs. It takes her several moments to recognize the inside of an Inquisition tent around her. She lifts her arm slowly from her chest and looks down to the blanket covering her. Painstakingly, wincing slightly, she pulls the cover back and finds the heavy bandaging along her torso. Her mouth opens, her brows furrowed. Her lips are chapped and dry before she licks them in quiet confusion. Slow flashes of images are returning to her from the battle.

She turns her gaze left and finds Krem slumped against a few stacked crates, his eyes closed with the heavy lull of sleep, his hands hanging limp over his lap. He is close enough for her to hear his steady breathing. She wants to touch him.

Tears fill her eyes suddenly, and she feels the quaking breath leave her lungs as she watches him.

Everything is right again now that he is here.

* * *

><p>When Krem stirs to wakefulness beside her, his eyes widening at her quiet, tear filled gaze, the breath gone from him as he leans forward in hesitant relief, the first thing she says is "Hold me".<p>

He does.

And they are silent for long moments, only their heavy sobs sounding in the air around them as they grasp each other tightly, desperately, and do not let go.

* * *

><p>It is night, cool and quiet, when Harding finally asks Krem, "What happened?"<p>

He looks up at her, sitting beside her as she lay blanketed on the warm furs, propped up by some bundles of bed spreads so that she can sit up somewhat. He holds his hands tightly before him. Her meager bowl of broth and bread lays on the crate near them, mostly finished. Her eyes drift to the bandages wrapping his arm, easily visible with his armor gone.

Krem swallows and watches her. "You mean after you…got hurt?"

She nods silently, and there is nothing but softness to her gaze when she looks back to him.

It makes the guilt and regret ripe in him. He lowers his head to look at his clasped hands, his elbows resting along his knees. "Well, uh, Warden forces swarmed the wall and Cullen ordered the Inquisitor to reinforce it."

Harding muses quietly. "And what about you and the Chargers?"

Krem looks back up to her. "We were ordered to hold the first courtyard until the next wave came to push further into the second square."

There is the light hint of pride to her smile when she cocks her head at him. "I imagine you gave those Wardens a run for their money."

His brows furrow at her look, at her pride in him he feels he doesn't deserve. "I saw you fall." The words leave him before he can stop them.

She blinks at him for a long, dreadful moment. "Oh," she whispers, turning her gaze to glance at her folded hands in her lap.

He swallows tightly, scooting closer to her, his voice heavy and scraping. "I'm sorry. I…I don't know how you can even look at me when I left you." He stops, the thought settling inside him. A slow, uneven breath leaves him. "I _left_ you. Maker."

He stands then, because he cannot bear to be near her when this ache festers within him. He puts a hand over his eyes, turning so that she cannot see his face. His shoulders slump in defeat, his head shaking. "I'm so, _so_ sorry, Lace. I couldn't…there were lives at stake and then the advance…and then nothing but blood and rage for a long, long time." He lowers his hand from his face. It drops to his side where it clenches tightly into a fist, his knuckles white with the trembling force. "I wanted to run to you. I wanted to run and never look back and it just _hurt_ so much to not be able to do anything. Maker, I couldn't fucking _do_ anything." He turns then, his gaze falling on her silent form, heated and needful and bright with unshed tears.

She sighs softly and keeps her eyes on her lap.

The breath is harsh and raking in Krem's chest, the words tight in his throat. His fists are shaking when he closes his eyes. "I thought you'd…you'd want me to keep going. To perform my duty. But when I saw you I couldn't…I felt so…" He stops momentarily, because the memory of her pale face and cold fingers is still fresh and raw and vibrant. "I was ready to do unspeakable things if it meant you opened your eyes once more." He thinks back to that brief frantic moment when he had offered his blood up to Healer Slater, when he had forgotten everything but her in one desperate, horrible moment. When it was only the guilt and only the regret and only the dangerous, shattering realization that he might have made the wrong choice. That he might have lost her for good because he made _the wrong fucking choice_. He swallows tightly, his voice quaking. "I'd take it back. I'd take it back if I could and-"

"Krem."

He opens his eyes to find her watching him with everything loving and light and hopeful. Her green eyes are damp with tears, her head shaking softly, her lips trembling. "Krem," she repeats, her voice catching.

It is the greatest sound he's ever heard.

He kneels down to her and she reaches for his hand. He gives it to her without question.

She pulls her lip in a moment, simply watching him. And then she smiles. She _smiles._ And Krem didn't think he'd ever breathe again.

Harding rubs a thumb tenderly along the skin of his knuckles. "I'm proud of you," she breathes softly.

Krem's mouth opens and then promptly closes.

She continues. "We're soldiers. And we're in this fight so that others will never have to make the choices we must." Her eyes do not leave his. "You made the right one. I could never ask more of you."

Krem can only watch her. Can only breathe in quiet disbelief. His chest aches once more but it is not an unwelcome pain this time. He feels something take root in his heart and promise to not – to _never_ – let go.

This woman. This woman who shows him unending warmth and fearless purpose and a world he thinks he sees in his dreams some nights, when he falls asleep with the image of her face behind his lids.

This woman he thinks he might love.

Harding clears her throat and lowers her eyes, her cheeks burning a soft pink. "I, uh," she chuckles as she stops a moment, her fingers soft along his hand, "I might have just fallen even harder, Mr. Aclassi."

He pulls his hand from hers and she looks up in surprise for a moment when she feels his palms cradling her face and the warm promise of his breath against her lips before he is kissing her. She can taste the salt of his tears as he moves his mouth against hers. Her eyes flutter closed as she sighs against him, feeling the needy, aching tremble of his hands as they hold her to him.

Everything is right again now that he is here.

Krem does not move his mouth from hers for long, desperate moments. When he finally pulls back, he rests his forehead against hers and shares her breath. He holds her.

And she grips him back with the same need, the same shattering knowledge of what it means to be lost.

Wholly and willfully and without regret.


End file.
